


Their New Normal

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A New Relationship, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Bereavement, John tries to help, Letters, M/M, Sherlock Breaks, Sherlock Can't Cope, Sherlock Can't Cope With Help Either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is faced with a family death, and John can do nothing to help. When the grief brings more changes that Sherlock can't understand, John is left wondering if things will ever be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock unlocked the door and flopped down onto the sofa. He wanted a cup of tea but he wanted John to be the one to make it. "Well, that was satisfying," he said, lifting his feet up onto the table.

"Sorry, what was satisfying?" John asked, looking up from the paper and over at Sherlock. 

"I've just come back from explaining things to Lestrade. It was very satisfying seeing the looks on their faces, all their mouths hanging open . . . especially Anderson's," Sherlock said. He tried to make his face look as thirsty as possible, turning it towards John. "Why don't they learn that I will always be right?"

"You are enjoying that far too much if you ask me," he said, going back to his reading. But behind the paper he smiled a little because he knew what their faces looked like and he loved that Sherlock could do that. They weren't very nice to him so it was even better.  

Sherlock gave up and moved to the kitchen to make tea. "I wish you'd been there," Sherlock admitted. "But I suppose your appointments this afternoon were all life and death, right?" He got two mugs out. 

"Not life and death but I do have to work sometimes," he said. 

"I wish you didn't," Sherlock said. "I wish you just stayed here." Then he realised it was kind of an odd thing to say so he turned to focus on the tea, pouring it and bringing a mug over to John. Sherlock sat back on the sofa again. He sat silently, looking at John.

"Well, I have more bills than just the rent here," he said, nodding gratefully for his tea. He put the paper down and looked at Sherlock, who was staring. "What is it? Did you put something in this?" he asked suddenly. 

"Just love," Sherlock said, smiling cheekily. "Let's go out for dinner. You're not making a big enough deal of this. Let's go out to celebrate."

"You always solve the case," John reminded him as he set his tea down without taking a sip. "But I am not opposed to a nice meal. We can go to dinner, but what makes this one any different?"

"I don't know what's different today," Sherlock said. "Except you weren't there." He had a feeling that the real problem was that John wasn't giving him enough attention. But he didn't say that aloud. "You don't have to analyse everything all the time, John. It's just dinner."

"I'm not analysing anything! What do you want? I'll even treat since we're celebrating," John smiled.

"Don't care," Sherlock said, setting his tea down and rolling over to lie properly on the sofa. "Angelo's. Wake me up in an hour, yeah?" he said as he closed his eyes.

"Nope, I am already up now so we are going now. Come on," John said, poking at his shoulder.

"You're horrible," Sherlock said. He slowly slid from the sofa and got his coat and scarf. They started on their walk.

They went into Angelo's and ordered their usuals. John let Sherlock describe the whole scene at the Yard, even they both knew that John knew all the details of the case and could imagine everyone's reactions. But Sherlock liked explaining it and liked that John let him. He even ordered them a bottle of wine to make it a real celebration. He clinked their glasses and then said, "Thanks, John."  
  
"Of course," John smiled as he took a drink. "I'm sorry I missed it. Next time you'll have to get them extra good."

"Be there next time, yeah?" Sherlock said, taking a quick bite of food. He then dropped his head to look at his food.

"I will," John said. "Most of the time I'm there when you need me." Not that Sherlock needed John there to lay out a case, but he liked being there.

"I know," Sherlock said, because he did. But he kind of wished he had access to John all of the time -- most of the time didn't seem enough somehow.

"Okay. So cheer up, yeah?" John tapped his glass on Sherlock's and smiled wider.

Sherlock looked over at John and pulled a face. He finished off his wine. "You want dessert or are we ready to go?"

"We can go," John said. He left the money on the table and put his coat back on.

They walked home quietly. As Sherlock unlocked the door, he asked, "You working tomorrow?"

"Yeah, right through to the weekend," he said.

"Boring," Sherlock said, heading up. "Want tea or are you heading off to bed?"

"I'll stay up with you for a bit since I didn't see you much today," he smiled. 

"Don't treat me like a baby," Sherlock said. He made some tea and brought it over to the sofa. "Want the telly on?" he asked, handing John the remote.

"No, I don't think there will be anything good on now, unless you want to see the news. Did Lestrade give you anything new?" 

"He didn't," Sherlock said. "I'll write stuff up tomorrow but hopefully there'll be something soon." He took a sip of tea. "I don't do . . . well when nothing's going on."

"You can keep busy by helping me type it up on the blog," John said.

"No thanks," Sherlock said. "I'll write it out. You're my blogger, right? I do the clever stuff -- you type it up on the blog." He smiled and threw a cushion at John.

John caught the cushion and laughed softly. "I need you to make sure I get it all right -- the end part," he said.

"Just you do it and I'll check it, okay?" Sherlock put on his sweet face which he'd noticed John usually responded to. '"Please . . ."

John raised his brows. "I was only trying to include you. It's fine if you don't want to," he shrugged. He was a bit disappointed, but he would never admit that to Sherlock.

Hmm . . . Sherlock's trick had backfired because John also had a sweet face which seemed to have similar affects on Sherlock. "Fine," he said. He glanced at the clock. "It's too late for you tonight, but I won't do anything and when you get home from work tomorrow, we can do it together, yeah?" He looked over at John.

John looked up at him in surprise and smiled softly. "Yeah all right," he said. "I'll bring dinner so we don't have to worry about anything through the night."

"It'll be my turn to pay," Sherlock said, reaching for his wallet.

"Well, we can worry about that tomorrow," John said. He stood and stretched, putting his mug in the sink. "I think I'll go to bed now."

Sherlock stood as well. "All right then," he said. "If I'm not up when you leave, don't wake me." He tapped John's arm and smiled and made his way to his room.

"When have I?" John asked as he made his way for the stairs and up to bed. He hoped Lestrade would have another case soon before Sherlock became bored and moody. John never thought there would be a day he wished for crimes to happen.

"You deliberately pour your tea loudly and you know it," Sherlock called with a little laugh. He got into bed and thought about the case he'd just solved.


	2. Mycroft's Visit

John got up early and made extra sure to be quiet as he left the flat for the surgery. He walked since it was nice enough and went straight to work as soon as he got there, the waiting room already full.

Sherlock rolled over in bed and listened to the silence of the flat. John had gone to work. Sherlock didn't have a case and had promised to wait to write up his notes. He had nothing to do. Sherlock Holmes hated having nothing to do. He stayed in bed a little longer, willing himself to go back to sleep -- John had told him so often that he didn't get enough sleep when they had a case, so perhaps he could squeeze in some more now and use it as a distraction from his boredom. But he couldn't. So he got up, showered, and made a cup of tea which he took to his desk, sipping it slowly as he checked his email. He found nothing of interest. He picked up his phone.

 _Bored. SH_  
  
_I'm slammed here. -JW_

That answer was not satisfactory to Sherlock.

_Come home anyway. You have work here. SH_

_I know we do, but that work will be much more enjoyable. -JW_

Sherlock smiled. John was right. He did wish John would come home right now, but it'd be soon enough and tonight would be good. He set his phone on the desk but it immediately vibrated again.

_I will be at Baker Street in four minutes. MH_

Sherlock grimaced at the message. Unless his brother had a project Sherlock could work on, he really had no interested in seeing him. He poured himself another cup of tea.

Mycroft arrived as promised, four minutes later. He entered without knocking and even though he'd been expecting him, Sherlock stood up at his brother's arrival. "You should knock -- I could have been involved in matters of a personal nature," he said sitting back down.

"I very much doubt that," Mycroft said.

"Well, John could have been -- he lives here too, you know. You really need to --"

"Shut up now, please, Sherlock," Mycroft said, staring past Sherlock at the wall behind him.

And for some reason, Sherlock didn't say anything else.

"Sit down, please," Mycroft said. "I have something to tell you."  
  
"I am sitting," Sherlock said.

"I need you to listen using the appropriate side of your brain, please. The logical side. Not the . . . John-Watson side."  
  
Sherlock sat forward a little in his chair. "What do you have to tell me, Mycroft?" he said quietly and it felt like the words were coming out too slowly, as if he could feel them forming on his tongue and then slowly falling out of his mouth.

"Mother has died. This morning. Heart attack. Little fuss really -- Father went down for tea, came back to the bedroom and she was dead. The funeral will be in a few days. I shall be sorting it -- I will need you to do a few things to help me." Mycroft finally looked at Sherlock.

But he was already gone.

Mycroft stared at him for a few moments, but all he could see was a little boy, his little brother, and somewhere deep inside Mycroft hid an urge to embrace him. But he couldn't do that so he didn't. Instead he said, "I . . . we both know I cannot offer much of what I think you might need at the moment. But John can. Let him."

All of Mycroft's words had entered Sherlock's brain -- they were all in there, a few even seemed to be echoing.

Mycroft's mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed. "But I'll need you to be . . . sorted soon. I'll be in touch." And then he left.

Sherlock could still hear Mycroft's words in his head. His eyes were open, but he didn't see the table in front of him, the wall of the flat, or John's empty chair. He was looking at his memories, like photographs in a family album.

And then somehow he was in his bed. The curtains pulled, the door locked, the room dark. And Sherlock was quietly crying.

When John didn't get a reply, he stuffed his phone away and got back to work. Maybe if he moved through his patients faster he could leave early. A fool's dream really since none of them had appointments and the more that came in, the longer they stayed. But he tried anyways and kept half his mind on working on the case notes with Sherlock to keep him sane throughout the appointments. The fact that he used to love doing this job before Sherlock was not lost on him. 

Finally they were finished. John called in their take away order before he left so by the time he got close, it was ready. He thought about texting Sherlock to let him know he was on his way, but he didn't feel like fishing his phone out now. Sherlock would be waiting for him anyways. When he walked in, he thought he'd made enough noise but he didn't see Sherlock anywhere. "Sherlock?" he called, looking down the hall. His bedroom door was closed. "Sherlock!" he called, knocking on the door now. There was no reply. "Hello?" He tried the knob but the door was locked. 

He split the food and moved both plates before getting his laptop. "Sherlock? I'm starting without you!" He went to the blog and opened the draft he'd started. He ate and typed and ate and Sherlock was still gone. Fine. If he didn't want to help that was all he had to say, not hide like a child. He finished his food and put everything else away, taking his laptop up to his room. If he was going to be working alone he might as well be comfortable. 

Sherlock didn't hear John come in. He didn't hear John calling. He didn't hear John try his bedroom door. He was listening to his mother speaking in his head, his mother laughing, his mother telling him she was proud of him.

John finished the case and posted it on the blog, closing the computer a bit too hard and putting it on the ground. He grabbed his phone and texted Sherlock. 

_Thanks for all your help. -JW_

He tossed the phone to the other side of the bed and curled up to sleep. Sherlock was always off in his own world -- this was not anything new -- and neither was the fact that they worked together so much. And yet this time it all felt so much worse because they had planned this and John felt properly ditched. He had a hard time getting to sleep. He couldn't properly shut his brain down because he kept waiting for a reply but his phone remained silent. 

At some point Sherlock slept -- he knew that eventually he would and once his brain was a little more under control, he tried concentrating on making himself sleep. Which he couldn't. But at some point he did sleep. It was little different than the last few hours, though -- pictures and sounds and memories. When he woke from his sleep, he got up and moved to the window. He stared out at the street. A few people were out, passing the flat. They didn't look up, no one saw him. He stared at the street, but nothing out there mattered. He crawled back into bed and tried to sleep again.


	3. John Finds Out

John woke up in a bad mood, still tired. When he got off the bed and almost stepped on his computer, he remembered what happened last night and made his way downstairs. It was like he was living here alone. There was no sign that anyone else had been moving around the flat. John made tea, two mugs, and waited for Sherlock to emerge when he heard movement. But even after John's shower and breakfast, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. "Sherlock?" he called from outside of his door, leaning close to try to hear if anything was going on in there. There was nothing. Getting worried now John tried the door again, but it was still locked. He sighed and put the mug back in the kitchen. Sherlock had disappeared for days before but he didn't like it--he could never get used to it. 

Reluctantly he left for work, keeping his phone on loud in case Sherlock messaged him. He was a bit worried and would take anything at this point -- even Sherlock making fun of him about something but nothing ever came. He was struggling between letting it go (since he knew Sherlock did these things) to being annoyed (because at this point he thought that they were proper friends and this wasn't what friends did). Despite everyone saying otherwise John really believed he was Sherlock's friend. Today believing that was harder to do so. 

When he was on his way home he considered sending another text, but he changed his mind. He would be home soon anyways and without warning maybe he could catch Sherlock off guard in the kitchen. A laughable idea, of course, but it was something. He walked in and shut the door as quietly as he could while he made his way for the stairs. 

"John!" 

He paused and sighed in defeat before looking over the railing at Mrs Hudson. She looked like she had been crying, and suddenly John's heart was pounding too quickly. "What's happened?"

"I've been trying to talk to him all day, John. I just read it in the papers! It's not very nice of you to go off to work and leave him," she scolded sadly. 

"Leave him -- read what? What's happened?" John asked again.

Mrs Hudson looked at him and seemed to understand. "Oh," she said, looking nervous now. "Oh John . . . his mother's passed," she whispered. 

John felt like a bag of bricks had been dropped into his stomach. He blinked at her and couldn't make his mouth work. He slowly headed up to the flat, his arms removing his coat without his brain's help. Everything was on autopilot until he was outside of Sherlock's door. He knocked gently this time. "Sherlock?" he asked softly.  

At some point Sherlock had woken up again and needed the toilet. The flat was quiet. He opened his bedroom door and the light from the sitting room window hurt his eyes. He moved quickly to the bathroom and then back to his bedroom, where the darkness felt safer and the quiet seemed more comforting. He got back into bed.

He opened his eyes again when he heard John's voice. John. Sherlock couldn't speak . . . he couldn't make any words. There was a teeny tiny part of his brain telling him to get up and open the door -- to do as Mycroft has instructed, to let John help him. But the other parts of his brain -- the memories and all the emotions that he usually silenced -- were too loud. He rolled over in the bed and couldn't hear John anymore.

"Sherlock, Mrs Hudson just told me . . .I'm sorry," he said, waiting a bit for a reply. There was nothing. "Please . . . let me know if you need anything." He moved away from the door and into the sitting room where he saw Sherlock's phone on the table. That's why he hadn't answered -- well, not the only reason, but it explained a lot. He saw the light blinking and thought about his sarcastic message. He didn't want Sherlock to see it. Quickly he opened his phone and deleted his message before Sherlock saw it. There was also two from Mycroft. 

_Funeral will be on Saturday at 2pm. I hope you've sorted yourself by now. -MH_

_Can you confirm you've read this and will be there? -MH_

John almost threw the phone at the wall. _I hope you've sorted yourself?_ Who said something like that? He was so annoyed with the thought that he should call Mycroft himself since Sherlock couldn't, but he didn't want to talk to him so soon after seeing those messages. Mycroft had lost a mother as well and it wouldn't do to shout at him, no matter how he was acting. John would call off work for a few days to go to the funeral with Sherlock.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he could see no light shining behind his curtains. It was night. He didn't know which night, though -- he wanted to have slept for a week. He wanted all of it to be done and he could pretend it all hadn't happened. He reached for his phone, but it wasn't there. He wasn't sure what to do.

John was in the flat. Sherlock knew that -- he remembered hearing John's voice but couldn't remember how long ago that had been or what John had said. But Sherlock had heard John's footsteps. He waited a few moments, hoping he'd hear the flat door close, meaning John had gone out. But it wasn't morning, Sherlock knew that, so where would John go? John wouldn't leave the flat without talking to Sherlock -- regardless of how long it had actually been. Sherlock knew this was too long apart: John would be worried.

Sherlock didn't want John to worry, but . . . he wasn't ready . . . he couldn't get up and be around another person. Sherlock thought that maybe he'd never want to be around another person again. Or maybe he could just be around people he hated -- so that when they left, it wouldn't matter.

This was all stupid and, of course, there was a part of Sherlock that knew that. But he was still paralysed. He stopped making plans about how he'd live the rest of his life avoiding sadness and tried to force himself to decide what to do in this moment. But he couldn't. He literally couldn't. So he lay there, silent and still.

A few hours later, John still hadn't seen or heard from Sherlock, so he heated some of the leftover food and moved in from of his door, sinking down on the floor and leaning against it. "Sherlock? I have your phone here and some dinner if you want," he said through the door. He ate his own food slowly, listening for any signs of movement. He didn't get very far, his own appetite gone from the sadness he felt for his friend. He wanted to kick open the door and lie down with him, hold him, or do experiments with him -- anything to make him feel better. He got up and put Sherlock's food in the fridge again and went back to the door. "I'm leaving your phone . . . you can text me, okay? Or call me or come up and talk to me or sit with me -- whatever you need. I'm going to be home for a few days so . . . please . . ." He trailed off and touched the door before heading up to his room.

This time Sherlock heard John. He listened to him. But he still couldn't speak. He waited until the flat seemed quiet again and opened his door quickly and grabbed his phone. It seemed warm like John had just been holding it, but Sherlock knew that was stupid. He didn't look at it, just kept it tight in his hand as he got back into bed. He took a deep breath and looked at his messages. He read Mycroft's.

Saturday. What day was it today? He looked at the calendar. It was Friday night. Saturday was tomorrow. The funeral was tomorrow. He closed his eyes and tears streamed down his face. They burned a little but he didn't lift his hand to wipe them away. If he didn't move, it was like it wasn't happening. He stayed there on the bed, crying but not moving.

When John tried to fall asleep and failed for a couple hours, he got up for a glass of water and to use the bathroom. He checked on Sherlock and saw the phone was gone. John hurried back up to his room. 

_Please let me know if there is anything you need. I don't want you to be alone right now. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Please come up here or open your door. I just want to help. -JW_

John lay down and waited for a reply, holding the phone tightly over his chest. 

Sherlock felt his phone vibrate in his hand. He opened his eyes but hesitated before moving his hand. He turned it around and read John's message. He started to cry again.

John was so good -- Sherlock knew that. Sherlock knew that John would do whatever he needed. But John was a Watson, not a Holmes. John didn't understand that what Sherlock needed was to get himself sorted. That's what Mycroft had suggested, surely that's what his mother would want Sherlock to do. He set his phone on the bedside table and rolled over. His heart ached and needed John, but his brain and his body told him no. He tried to strike a bargain, begging his brain to let his body sleep. It eventually did.


	4. Saturday

John had nightmares that night and he jolted awake to his phone hitting the ground. He picked it up and checked it -- there was nothing from Sherlock. He went down to Sherlock's room. "Sherlock?  We have to get ready," he said quietly.

For a second Sherlock hated John -- he had been sleeping, not thinking, and now John had disturbed that and reminded him of what was happening today. Sherlock didn't say anything. He didn't move. His phone vibrated.

_You'll need to be at the house in two hours. MH_

_No. SH_

_I'm afraid that's not an option. MH_

Sherlock stared at the words and considered his reply carefully.

_I can't. SH_

John's phone rang.

John nearly dropped his phone in the excitement that Sherlock was finally speaking to him. But he settled himself when he saw it was Mycroft. He moved into the sitting room. "Hello?" 

"Is he with you?"

"If you can call it that. I haven't seen him since he found out," John said, looking at Sherlock's door again. 

"Can't you . . . do something? I --" Mycroft's voice was low. "I can't help him with this. You can. Do, please -- he needs to come."

John swallowed hard. Sherlock being upset was one thing, living with him had allowed John to see a human side. This made sense. But Mycroft upset was bizarre and he was unprepared for that. "I'm trying," John said gently. "I'm doing everything that I can."

Mycroft coughed. "Tell him he owes it to his mother," he said sharply. "I'll see you both in two hours."

There was no way John was going to say that. He went back to Sherlock's door and knocked again. "Sherlock? I know this is difficult but . . . I'll be right there with you. We can go together."

Sherlock had missed hearing John's voice. He allowed it into his head -- it was a comfort. But then he stopped. He stood up and went to the door, but didn't open it. He looked down at his phone and typed.

_I can't._

"You don't have to alone," John said through the door. He knew Sherlock would regret not going -- not saying goodbye -- but he was too nervous to say that. "I'll help you."

_I can't._

"Sherlock, please, we have to go. You can do this," John said again. "I will with you."

There were tears on Sherlock's face again, and this time he wiped them away.

_Leave me alone. Please._

He moved back to the bed, set the phone on the table, and got under the covers. He turned and let himself cry. 

"Sher-" John tried the handle as he heard the bed. "Sherlock?" And just like that he was gone. John moved into the sitting room where, a second later Mrs Hudson came in.

"John?"

He looked over at her and shook his head. "He won't go and I can't leave him here alone," he said.

"Oh but . . . but John . . ."

"I don't know what else to do," he said quietly.

Mrs Hudson moved towards John and pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry, John," she said, rubbing her hand on his back. "He's. . . he can't do these things . . . I thought maybe your influence might . . . I'm sorry, John."

John hugged her back. "I'm going to stay here with him," he murmured.

"That's good, John," she said. "I'll go. I'll explain but I have a feeling no explanation will be needed." She pulled back and kissed his cheek. "You . . . you have made him such a better man, John, but he's been how he is all his life -- some things might never change." She patted his arm and stepped away to head downstairs.

John felt his eyes burn and he wiped them hard. Then he went to Sherlock's door and sat on the floor outside of it. "It's okay, Sherlock. I'm here," he said quietly as he leaned back on the door.

Sherlock rolled over and reached for his phone.

_Thank you._

He set it back down and tried to go away from it all again.

John stared at the message before pulling his knees up and resting his head on them. He knew he couldn't stay on the floor here forever, and he wished Sherlock would unlock the door so John could at least see him and make sure he was okay.

When he started dozing he figured, he should get off of the floor. "Sherlock, I'm just moving to the sofa, okay? I'm still here." He waited for just a moment before walking off. The sofa felt better and again he put his phone on his chest and closed his eyes.

When Sherlock woke up again, he looked at the clock. It was evening.   
  
It was over. His mother had been buried.

He didn't think about whether it was right or wrong that he hadn't gone. He hadn't had a choice. When he'd say he couldn't, he had meant it: it felt physically impossible. It hadn't been a decision. It had been a fact.

But now Sherlock did have a decision. He had to decide what next to do. He had to decide how to make it possible to get up, move out of this room, and live again. He lay there, considering his options.

John was startled awake by his phone falling off of his chest and onto the floor. He sat up and looked around before remembering what was going on. Or not going on. He checked the time and sighed heavily. He had slept most of the day away and if Sherlock had come out at all, he'd missed it. Deep down he doubted he had, but he still felt bad for falling asleep. He got up and stretched before going to Sherlock's room and knocking. "Sherlock? Do you want some tea or something to eat?" he asked, looking at the door as if he could see through it. 

Sherlock said "No." He realised it was the first time he'd spoken in days.

John sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. "Please? It's been a while and I am worried about you." 

"I can't," Sherlock said. He still didn't know precisely what to do and nothing was going to change until he had a plan.

"I can help," John said again, for the hundredth time, wishing Sherlock would let him. He pushed away from the door and went to the sofa again, wondering what else he could do. 

Sherlock got his phone again.

_Thank you for offering. But I don't need help. SH_

_Then let me come sit with you. We can just sit together. -JW_

Sherlock swallowed. For a moment he allowed himself to picture it -- he and John sitting next to each other. It seemed like it might be okay, but then he realised it wouldn't be, couldn't be enough. Because right now Sherlock needed more comfort than any person could give. He knew that. He knew he couldn't cure this pain, nothing would cure it. Therefore, he'd have to ignore it. And he'd decided: tomorrow that's what he'd do. But for now, he'd stay here in the safe, quiet darkness. 

_No thank you. SH_

John's eyes burned at the massage and he set the phone down on the table. He had never felt so helpless in his life. He had never wanted to do something so badly and not known how or what or anything. He was hurting for Sherlock.

Sherlock slept on and off through the night. He spent a little time staring out the window again. He allowed himself to remember what he needed to, even when it made him cry again. He wanted to get it all out so the sadness could be gone once and for all.


	5. Sherlock's Plan

John ended up falling asleep on the sofa, his head towards the hall as he hoped to hear something from Sherlock. When he woke up he was sore and stiff, slowly making his way to the bathroom and then to make some tea.

Sherlock heard John in the kitchen. He stayed in bed until it sounded like tea had been made. He slipped quickly from his room to the bathroom. He got himself cleaned up and dressed and then stepped out into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup. "Good morning," he said, carefully maintaining what sounded to him like his normal voice.

John looked up and was so stunned he almost dropped his mug. For a second he couldn't believe it was really Sherlock. "Sherlock?" he asked stupidly, watching him closely.

"What?" Sherlock said. He glanced at the clock -- it had just gone noon. "Oh, sorry, good afternoon." He moved over to his desk and opened his laptop.

"Are you . . . how are you?" John asked, his hand still frozen in mid sip.

"Fine. I'm hoping there's a case . . . " he said. He logged onto his email -- his Inbox was full. His eye caught the word sympathy so he immediately shut the laptop and stood up. "Nothing." He stood at the window looking out at the street. "I might go out for a walk."

"A case? No! There will be no case, Sherlock. Are you okay? Talk to me," John pleaded, leaving his tea and following him into the sitting room. This was worse than crying.

"I'm fine, John," Sherlock said, moving towards the door. "You're welcome to come with me if you'd like. But I'd like to go out for a walk -- not a talk."  
  
John hurried to block his way, grabbing onto his arms now. So he was real. And he was acting like nothing had happened. "Sherlock, I know it's hard but . . . you can't just ignore this. . ."

Sherlock pushed John's hand away. "Ignore it? Do you think I've been 'ignoring it' the past few days?" he asked quite sharply. "I'm sorted now. If you're coming on this walk, go get dressed. If you'd rather not bother, I'll be back in a bit." He looked at John, waiting for him to decide.

"No, I didn't mean it like that. But you can't just . . sort this. You can't delete it or move it or box it away in a locked room." He grabbed Sherlock's arms again, gently this time. "Don't listen to Mycroft's advice and bury it all away."

"Walk or not, John? It's a relatively easy question," Sherlock said. He ignored John's comments, but he didn't pull away this time.

"Yes, fine," John said. "I'm not going to let you go off alone," he grumbled. He let go and hurried upstairs to change, hoping Sherlock didn't leave without him. He came back down as quickly as he could and grabbed his jacket. 

Sherlock led them out onto the pavement. It was colder outside than he had expected it to be, so he pulled up his collar and tightened his scarf. He didn't have a destination in mind -- he just needed to move his body, be outside of that room and the flat. He needed to breathe in fresh air. He listened to John's footsteps next to him, but didn't turn to look over.

John stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked quickly to keep up with Sherlock. He didn't say anything else because really he didn't know what to say. John didn't want to throw the death in his face or criticise him for not going to the funeral but to act like it was just any other day -- it didn't sit well with him. But he couldn't tell others how to grieve. He glanced at Sherlock and wished he could read the man's mind. 

"Hungry?" Sherlock finally said. "Want to stop and get something to eat?"

Sherlock's speaking actually startled John for a moment. "Sure," he said, thankful Sherlock was going to be putting some food into his body. It had been a long time since he's eaten anything. "Anything you want."

Sherlock went to a small cafe at the corner, holding the door open for John. They sat at a small booth near the window. When the server came with menus, Sherlock held up his hand, refusing one. "Just tea for me, please," he said.

"Sherlock, please get something to eat," John said. "It's been days . . ." 

"John --" Sherlock started but then stopped. He turned to the server. "Toast, please," he said.

"And scrambled eggs for him as well. Tea and toast for me, please, thank you," John added. 

Sherlock waited until the server left and leaned over to speak softly. "I know what you're doing, John. I . . . appreciate it. But I'm not like you. I can take care of myself."

"I believe you. But you should let me do it anyways even if it's only for my sake," John said.

"Well, that's rather selfish of you," Sherlock said and tried to make a small smile.

"Right now I don't care," John said. "I'm worried about you, Sherlock."

"Well, you are usually, aren't you? So everything's back to normal then," Sherlock said. He picked up the salt and pepper shakers and fiddled with them.

"You know that's not true," he said, putting his hand over Sherlock's to stop his fiddling. It made his belly warm and his eyes go a bit fuzzy for a second. "Sherlock, why didn't you go say goodbye?"

Sherlock swallowed and looked down. "I can't do this here, John," he said in a soft voice.

"We can go home," John said quietly. "We can go home and talk, but I need you to eat something first."

Sherlock drank some tea. "I'm not like you," he repeated quietly, looking up as the server brought the food. He tore a piece off the toast and ate it.

"I know. I know that we're different but you can't close this away or it's never going to feel better."

"I feel better now, John," Sherlock said. "I feel fine." He pushed the eggs around the plate and then took a small bite.

"Now. Because you're still in shock, Sherlock. I know it's hard but you have to face it, to deal with it," John said quietly.

"So you say," Sherlock said. "But what if you're wrong? You want to upset me all over again when perhaps I'm right?"

"I don't want to upset you, Sherlock. But if you don't face it then every time you remember you'll be triggered and that's not good for you," he explained.

"Then I won't remember," Sherlock said. "Stop talking now, please, John."

"You can't not remember your mum," John said quietly, but he didn't add anything else. He sipped at his tea and wished he was still holding Sherlock's hand.

When Sherlock had eaten half the plate of eggs, he turned to John and said, "Let's go."

John left some money on the table and put his coat back on, following Sherlock outside and walking close to him. He was considering reaching out for his hand, but they were walking too quickly.

When they got back to the flat, Sherlock put the kettle on and said, "I think I might go lie down."

"Sherlock! Stop trying to run away from this," John said, trying to block his path again. "You need to talk about it, about why you didn't go yesterday. You'll have to eventually."

Sherlock poured one cup of tea. He looked up at John, moved to his side and then went into his room and shut the door.

John groaned and leaned his hands on the edge of the counter. Sherlock couldn't spend the rest of his days locked up in his room, avoiding all of this. Of course John didn't know what he'd been doing in his room the last few days -- maybe crying his eyes out -- but it wasn't normal to act like nothing had happened the day after the funeral he skipped. Even for Sherlock. He sank on the sofa and put the news on, lying down to watch for a little while since he had nothing else to do.

Sherlock got back into bed. This hadn't been part of the plan. The plan had been to be normal, but John just had to keep talking. Sherlock didn't want talking. He didn't want that kind of talking. He closed his eyes and tried to make the talking in his head go away.

John kept listening for sounds or movements but he heard nothing. At one point Mrs Hudson came up and John assured her that they had been out and Sherlock had even eaten a little bit but that didn't stop her worried glances towards his room as she left. John wondered if this was the very first time Sherlock had dealt worn tragedy. Was there any one to ask? Anyone who knew what to expect from him? Mycroft would be no help. He sighed and resumed his spot on the sofa.

Sherlock slept a bit. When he woke up, he decided to give his plan another try. He got up and carried his mug to the sink. He noticed John drowsing on the sofa, so he turned on the kettle and set out two mugs.

John started at the sound of the mugs and he got up quickly, standing in the door and staring at Sherlock. He didn't know what to say anymore.

Sherlock carried the mugs over and handed one to John. "Normal, please," he said and sat down in his chair.

"There's nothing normal about this," John said as he sat down in his own chair.

"Please just . . . shut up, John," Sherlock said. "We're different -- I wish you had more respect for me."

"I do respect you, Sherlock. I'm just worried about you. I want to help you," John said, looking over at him.

"Help me how? What is the plan you have that will make everything better?"

"Well, it won't be better today or tomorrow or even next week. But I just want to make it easier. I don't want you to be alone," John said.

"I know how to take care of myself, John. I know how to do it alone," Sherlock said. "What's wrong with being alone?" He stood up and took his mug to the kitchen. He debated whether or not to go back to his room.

"It's easier with someone, Sherlock." John got up and followed him. "You don't have to do this alone."

"You don't know anything about this," Sherlock said, staring at the sink. "You don't know what's easier." He turned and faced John. "Are you entirely sure your motivation for all this is benevolent?"

"Yes of course it is," John said, moving closer to him. He reached out and touched his arm lightly.

"You're sure it's not something else?" Sherlock said, stepping a little closer and lifting his hand to hold John's arm. "You're sure it's not to show me how much I need you? Are you sure this isn't all about you?" He squeezed John's arm. He wasn't entirely sure what he was saying or doing but it was changing the focus away from him and onto John and somehow that felt better.

"No! Sherlock, I don't want you to need me. Especially for something like this. I wish I could take it all away." He lifted his gaze and stared up at Sherlock. "But I am here and I just . . . I want you know that so you can use me."

"That's what friends do now, 'use' each other? Is that what you've been doing with me all along?" Sherlock said. His voice was low. He stared back as John as he lifted his other hand to John's other arm. He wasn't thinking about his sadness now. He wasn't totally sure if he was thinking at all.

"No! Not like that. I just mean . . . look at me. I was broken before and I came here and I used you and your cases to get better. You did that for me. I just . . .I want to help you now. I want to help you feel better." John swallowed hard and kept his eyes on Sherlock's. There was a funny feeling in his belly that he couldn't place and yet he wasn't stopping any of this.

"I told you, John, I feel fine," Sherlock said. He stepped even closer so there was barely space between their bodies. He moved his hands to John's hips. "Are you suggesting you know a way to make me feel even better?"

John licked his lips lightly. He wondered if this was wrong as Sherlock was grieving, but then John didn't really know what either one of them was doing. "Sherlock . . ."

"Stop talking, John," Sherlock said and he leaned down and kissed John's mouth hard, pulling his body closer to his own.

John leaned up and kissed him back, hard, burying a hand into his hair and clutching at his shirt. The second their lips met he knew he'd wanted this a long time ago -- he also knew this was probably the worst time to act in it, but God, it was hard to stop.

Sherlock didn't pull back from the kiss. He stepped their bodies towards his room, pushing John backwards. When they were near the bed, he turned them and leaned back, pulling John down on top of him. He kept kissing John's mouth hungrily. His hands immediately went to John's hips again. He separated his legs a little and pushed his own hips up, rolling against John's body.

John groaned softly at the contact, rolling his hips and pressing hard into Sherlock as he pulled at Sherlock's clothes to get them off.

"Take everything off," Sherlock said. He pulled at John's shirt while he kicked his own shoes off. Their hands crashed into each other as they both moved to get rid of their clothes. Once everything was off, Sherlock turned them so they were lying properly on the bed, pulling on the covers to get their bodies onto the sheets. He got on top of John and kissed him again and then pulled his head back and said, "No talking." His hands moved up and down John's body before one moved between John's legs and held John's cock.

John nodded, reaching down and gripping Sherlock's cock as well. He huffed out a hard breath, moaning softly.

Sherlock wasn't thinking -- he wasn't thinking about his sadness or how he'd move on or what any of this would mean later. He wasn't thinking. He rocked his hips, bucking into John's hand. A small noise escaped his mouth. He stretched to open the drawer next to the bed. He grabbed a bottle of lube, flipping the top open and pouring some onto John's belly. He moved his hand through it and then quickly slipped his hand between John's legs, slicking everywhere. He rocked his hips again, losing himself for a moment in the feeling of John's hand on his cock. He glanced at John's face and then closed his eyes, slowly pressing a finger into John's body.

A small sound of surprise escaped John's throat, but he pushed into Sherlock's hand, breathing heavily in his pleasure. He stared up at Sherlock's face -- his closed eyes and his mouth hanging open and those lovely sounds coming out. It was the most human John had ever seen him and if this is what he needed, then John would do this for him. And for himself but he tried not to think about that. "More, Sherlock . . .take what you need, I want you to. I want to give it to you," he moaned, pulling his legs up a bit and leaning up to kiss him hard again. 

"No talking, John," Sherlock huffed. He moved his finger before sliding in a second one. He was aching -- he hadn't felt this desire in a long time and now he was full of want. He wanted to be inside of John and get lost in him and this feeling. He worked his fingers to stretch John open. His breath was rough and his heart pounding so he couldn't hear anything else in the room. He slipped out his fingers, reached for the drawer and quickly rolled on a condom. He adjusted his body over John's and firmly pushed inside of him. He moaned loudly, squeezed shut his eyes and starting rocking into him.

John closed his eyes and breathed heavily and could hardly wait for the moment that Sherlock was inside of him. He didn't open his eyes again until there was a long pause and he looked up to see Sherlock rolling on a condom. This was it. He watched the whole time -- he watched Sherlock move closer and he watched Sherlock line up and then he watched Sherlock's face as he pushed in. He was so gorgeous -- his sounds, his face, everything. John kissed his mouth hard and gripped Sherlock's shoulders as he moved his hips to encourage him. There was a burning -- he'd never done this before -- but he was too focused on Sherlock to care. He liked it, as if it meant he was taking Sherlock’s pain from him.  

Sherlock let his body fall onto John's. He looped his arms under John's and gripped his shoulders as Sherlock's hips thrust against him. He buried his face in the pillow next to John's head. He could smell John's shampoo -- it smelled of John and Sherlock realised he loved John more than anything in the world. He lost himself for a moment in the movement of their bodies. Then he lifted his torso up again, grabbed one of John's hands moving it to his cock, and said, "Make yourself come." He shifted slightly to give John room and closed his eyes again, letting his body go as he felt the tension within growing.

John whimpered and moaned with every thrust of Sherlock's body, every sound and movement and it was all so wonderful. He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked quickly, gazing up at Sherlock's face. He brought his free hand into Sherlock's hair and held on lightly and their eyes met and John had never felt more connected to anyone in his life. His mouth fell open in a silent moan as he let go, coming on both of their bellies and pulling Sherlock into his body. He moaned out and called for Sherlock before he slowly sank against the bed. 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, thrusting hard into him, and came soon after. He stayed in that position as the waves coursed and then as he tried to catch his breath. Once he had, he carefully moved to John's side, removing the condom and throwing it in the bin. He turned away from John and curled his body. He didn't say anything.

John stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes as he caught his breath before looking over at Sherlock. He bit his lip and lightly touched his shoulder. "Can we talk now?" he asked softly. 

"Go away, John," Sherlock said in a whisper.

John pulled his hand back and shook his head. "I'm tired so . . .so I am just going to sleep here," he said quietly. He had work in the morning, but now that Sherlock had let him in he wasn't going to leave so easily. He turned on his side with his back to Sherlock, staring at the wall. 

"No, John," Sherlock said, his voice a bit stronger. "I don't want you to sleep here."

"Why?" John asked, not turning around to face him. 

"I want to be by myself," Sherlock said. Of course, he knew it was cruel. But even though he didn't understand why, he felt sure John should not sleep here next to him.

John sighed and sat up slowly, wincing softly. He moved around the bed and fumbled for his clothes, his eyes burning as he shook his head. "You don't have to be," he mumbled before he left the room. He shut the door softly and went to his usual spot on the sofa, lying down and wiping hard at his eyes. He had known it could turn out this way -- he'd known that -- and yet it didn't ease the blow at all. He loved Sherlock. He thought it before and he definitely knew it now. But now things were ruined, possibly forever. 

Sherlock listened to John move from the bed. He listened to the door shut. He got up and locked it before getting back into the bed. He rolled to his side and could smell John on his pillow. He began to cry.

John didn't know how long we waited for sleep. He cried and then got angry and then stood and headed for Sherlock's room and then he chickened out and lay down again and it all continued well into the night until he dozed off. It was the longest night of his life.

Sherlock lay in bed thinking about how wrong John had been. Not being alone had made him feel better for a short time, but now Sherlock felt a million times worse. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Of course, he knew that John hadn't been the one who had been wrong. It had been Sherlock himself. He got up and moved to the window, staring out it again. He was supposed to be better now, he was supposed to have sorted himself. But he felt just as sad as he had over the previous nights. No, he actually did feel worse. When would this end?


	6. Sherlock's New Plan

When John's phone rang for the alarm, he had to drag himself up and into the shower. He made some tea and breakfast, leaving both outside of Sherlock's door. "I'm going to work. I'll see you later, yeah?" There was no answer. John touched the door lightly and left for work, exhausted and sad. 

Sherlock was awake when he heard John's voice but he couldn't speak or move. He waited until he heard the flat's door close. He got up and made the bed. He moved to the bathroom and showered. Then he made a fresh cup of tea and sat down at his desk. He took out a piece of paper and began to write.

John was a proper mess at work. He couldn't focus on any patient who came in to the point that he almost gave a woman a prostate exam. He took a break and closed himself in his office, taking his phone out and staring at the screen. No messages. No calls. He wondered what Sherlock was doing and hoped he wasn't still holed up in the bedroom. When John got home he would try to speak to him again, and this time he would kick down the door if he had to. 

Sherlock put the paper into an envelope and wrote John's name on the front. He moved into his room and put some clothes and books into a bag. He carried it out and set it next to his laptop. He put on his coat and scarf, grabbed his things and left.

Halfway through the second part of his day Sarah came in and told him to go home. Three patients had gone to complain about him, and she said it was clear he needed more time off. He apologized but he didn't argue with her. He took a cab home and hung his coat, heading straight for Sherlock's room. "Sherlock?" he called, his heart skipping when he saw the door open. Sherlock wasn't in there. He moved through the flat, calling out for him. He had a bad feeling rising in his chest. "Sherlock?" His eyes fell on a letter sitting on his laptop. He clenched his hands and just stared at it for several long minutes. He moved slowly to the desk and sat down. His hands shook as he opened the envelope. 

 

_John,  
_

_I apologise for taking advantage of your friendship last night._

_I thought I had sorted myself, but clearly I was wrong. I can't exist like this. I don't know how to._

_I need to get sorted. And I need to be alone to do it._

_I'm sorry._

_Sherlock_

 

John shook his head the whole time he read the letter and then the whole time he read it again. He fished out his phone and dialed Sherlock's number and actually whimpered softly when it went straight to voicemail. "Please come home, Sherlock. Don't leave. Please." He looked up at the ceiling because he sounded so desperate and he truly felt it. "I love you," he added softly before he hung up the phone. His mind went wild with terrible thoughts. Was he doing drugs again? Was he hurting himself? Where was he going to sleep? What was he going to eat? John could hardly sit still. 

He was pacing and shaking and he didn't stop until Mrs Hudson came up and settled him. She tried to reassure him that everything would be fine, that Sherlock just needed some space and he would come home again soon. But John heard the tone of her voice and knew she was just as scared as he was. She didn't know if he would be back any more than John did. When she left he was crying again, pacing and looking out of the window as if he would see Sherlock coming back. He pulled out his phone and found Mycroft's number. 

_Find your brother. He's gone. -JW_

Sherlock walked through the streets, finding himself in some of his old haunts. He remembered the way he used to keep himself sorted. He missed it. He missed being able to make himself forget -- it had been so easy then. He kept walking until he found a cafe and went in for a cup of tea. He felt his phone vibrate again. It was Mycroft this time. He let his call go to voicemail as well.

Eventually Sherlock left and headed to the hospital. He knew how to get in unseen and he found an empty lab and snuck in, locking the door behind him. He took off his coat, bundled it into the corner and sat down on it, leaning against the wall to try to sleep.

That night John hardly slept, waking up every hour it seemed like with nightmares about what was happening to Sherlock, about what state he'd be in if they didn't hurry up and find him. His next idea was to call Lestrade who knew all of Sherlock's old places. He promised to check and that he would be in touch. John spent the day holding his phone tightly and waiting for news, hoping for good news, wishing for Sherlock to contact him. He sent out texts -- just a few -- reminding Sherlock that he missed him, that he hoped Sherlock was safe, asking him to come home soon. Lestrade called when it was already dark out to say he hadn't found Sherlock, but they would keep looking. 

When Sherlock awoke, he managed to slip out of the hospital before being noticed. As he walked, he read John's texts and listened to the messages. He walked to the library and went to the top floor, finding a table far away from the quiet sounds of the other patrons. He took out some paper and began writing.

John didn't even bother with his bed that night. He moved to Sherlock's bed, crawling to the side he had lay on the night everything was ruined. He stared at Sherlock's side and touched his pillow. "I should have told you that I loved you that night," he said. If Sherlock was going to disappear at least he would have done so knowing that he was loved. He would have known the John hadn't been using him or offering a simple distraction. John hadn't realised as it was happening, how much being with Sherlock meant to him, and now that it had been taken away from him, he felt lost. When he moved into this flat, he never thought he'd live a day without Sherlock. After everything they had been through, he never thought there'd be a time when he would fail to help Sherlock. He fell asleep in Sherlock's bed, and his nightmares were even worse than before. 

Sherlock had spent all of that day in the library writing. The fourth floor got few visitors so he'd spread his things out a bit and at one point, used the bathroom to wash up, brush his teeth and change his clothes. When it came time for the library to close, Sherlock hid his things amongst the stacks, went downstairs to check out a book, and then snuck back up through a side entrance. When the librarians shut off the lights, the entire building was dark and quiet and it comforted Sherlock. He slept on one of the small sofas, waking occasionally to look out the window or read by the light of his phone. He stayed there a few nights, writing on papers and not having to talk to anyone.

John's pattern of hardly eating and hardly sleeping continued all week. He hadn't gone to work, he answered calls only to find out about Sherlock and when there was no news, he hung up and resumed his pacing or his sulking. He went through stages of being really sad, to pretending like he didn't care anymore, to being so angry at Sherlock for putting him through this. He had done nothing but try to help him and he was repaid with worry and heart break. For some of the hours he truly hated Sherlock, but it always went away and was promptly replaced with guilt and sadness and worry again. 

When Sherlock realised he'd written everything he needed to say, he organised the papers and then packed up the rest of his things. He stopped at Smiths, bought some envelopes and stamps and then went to a cafe. He'd gone days without tea and that wasn't right. The first sip was delicious. He'd gone days without John, too. He missed him.

He took out his papers and the envelopes. He slid some sheets into one and addressed it to his father. Then he folded up another few into an envelope for Mycroft. He wrote John's name on the next one and put the single piece of paper inside. The last one he left unmarked and filled with nearly a dozen sheets. He sat back and tried to enjoy the rest of his tea. When he'd finished, he walked to the post office and dropped the envelope to his father in the letterbox. Then he headed to Mycroft's office.

"You've been extremely irritating," Mycroft said when Sherlock walked in.

"I need to stay at yours tonight. I need a bath and a proper bed," Sherlock said.

"Fine," Mycroft said, waving his hand a little as if he couldn't be bothered with hearing any details.

Sherlock sat down. "When?" he asked.

"Give me a few minutes or just take the key," Mycroft said, reaching into his pocket and handing it to Sherlock.

Sherlock stood up and grabbed the key. He headed for the door.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said. "And John?"

"I'm going home tomorrow," Sherlock said and left. He went straight to Mycroft's and took a long, hot bath. He got dressed in clean clothes and sat reading the papers. He had drunk four cups of tea by the time Mycroft returned.

"I'll be going out," Sherlock said as soon as Mycroft came in.

"Fine," Mycroft said. "And should I be worried about where you're going on?"

Sherlock turned to look at him. "Have you been worried?"

Mycroft was flicking through his post. "Not particularly, I suppose," he said even though it wasn't entirely true. Without looking up, he said, "But John has."

Sherlock put on his coat and scarf. "I've got the key, you needn't wait up." When he was out on the street, he began to walk. His hand in his pocket held the envelope with no address.

That night John went to bed early but had another nightmare. This time he decided not to try to sleep again. He got dressed and left the flat, making his way to the one and only place he had never thought to look. He didn't bother with a cab -- he didn't want to rush any of this, he was in no hurry to get back to the empty flat. He walked up to the cemetery and roamed the plots until he found hers. But it wasn't her plot he saw. It was Sherlock. It took everything in him not to run over to the man. He crept close and hid behind a nearby tree, watching him and gripping the bark to keep himself right there. 

Sherlock stared at the gravestone. He felt tears on his face but he didn't reach up to wipe them away, but not because doing so would mean he wasn't crying. He was crying. He was crying because his mother had died. His mother was dead and he was sad. Eventually he bent down and shifted some of the flowers to the side. He placed the envelope on the freshly laid dirt and put the flowers back, covering it from view. He stood up, touched the stone and began walking back to Mycroft's.

John watched him every move Sherlock made, staying still until he left and was out of eyesight. John headed for the flat again, slightly comforted by the fact that Sherlock looked okay, or at least was still alive and functioning. At the flat he crawled into Sherlock's bed and pulled the covers up, unable to sleep, unwilling to sleep because of the nightmares. But seeing Sherlock had helped him and slowly he drifted off again.

Sherlock stopped off at a bar and got a large glass of wine which he drank probably a little too quickly. Then he went back to Mycroft's and straight to bed. The wine served its purpose and helped him fall to sleep. When he woke up, Mycroft was already gone. He took another bath and then packed up his things. He left the letter for Mycroft on the table, with the key to his flat on top. He walked home to Baker Street.

John woke up and stayed in Sherlock's bed for a while. He didn't have a nightmare, not one that he remembered anyways. He dragged himself out of bed and saw that Mr. Hudson had brought up breakfast. He passed right by it and went to the bathroom to clean himself up a bit. Then he just stood in the sitting room, a bit helpless. He didn't know what to do with himself. He looked at the wall, the spray paint and the bullet holes and he looked at the skull where he'd hid Sherlock's cigarettes last, and he started crying softly. He didn't want to live here alone and yet he knew he'd never be able to leave.

Before Sherlock unlocked the door, he took out his phone.

_I'm home. Should I come in? SH_

John heard his phone and for a second he almost didn't even check it. But just in case he did. His heart stopped.

_Yes. -JW_

Sherlock took a deep breath and let himself in. He walked upstairs and opened the door. John was standing there.


	7. Sherlock Returns

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said. He handed John the envelope with his name on it, and then Sherlock went into his bedroom and shut the door.

John couldn't make his throat work to get the words out. He didn't wipe his face, he didn't look away from Sherlock's face, he just stood there, holding the letter. He didn't even sit down to read it. He opened it slowly and read.

 

_John,_

_I am not like you. I don't know how to be like you. Our friendship has changed me in more ways than you know, but I will never not be who I am -- a man who does not know the right way to act on his feelings._

_I love you more than I've ever thought possible, John Watson._

_But I am still that man and, as such, I know I have hurt you. My sadness may have been the reason, but it is not an acceptable excuse._

_If you cannot forgive me, I will respect that and find another place to live._

_But I will ache for you, John, because you are the best man I have ever known. You're my friend. And I love you._

_Sherlock_

John put the letter down slowly and walked to Sherlock's door, knocking softly. "I love you too, Sherlock. And it's okay that you're sad and that you're different from me. But if you leave . . . I can't, Sherlock . . .I can't be without you so please, even if you close yourself in the room every day, please don't leave again. We can work it out, okay?" He touched the door lightly and walked to the sitting room to get the letter and read it again.

Sherlock was lying on his bed, worrying. He heard John speak. He reached over for his phone.

_Don't ever leave me. Please. SH_

_I couldn't. I won't. -JW_

Sherlock stood up and opened his bedroom door. He stepped out until he could see John. He just looked at him for a few moments and said, "Come be with me, John."

John dropped his phone on the sofa and walked over to him, stepping into his room and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"I don't know how to be like you," Sherlock cried into John's shoulder. "I'm sorry I hurt you." He held him tightly.

"Sherlock, no," John said, petting his hair. "You were hurt and I wanted to help, and I didn't know how. I'm sorry."

"I don't know how to let people help, John," Sherlock said. "Because no one ever has."

"We're going to figure it out together," John murmured, turning his head to kiss his temple.

"I love you," Sherlock whispered, lifting his hands to John's face and turning it to kiss him.

John kissed him back, sliding his hands up to Sherlock's neck, stroking his jawline. "I love you too, Sherlock. I wish I could take your pain away," he whispered.

Sherlock pulled John towards the bed. "Will you stay and lie down beside me?" he said, still holding him tight.

"Yeah, I will," John said quietly, holding Sherlock's hand tightly. "Sherlock. I don't regret what we did. I don't. But I don't think we should do it again until we're both feeling a little better . . .you've experienced something awful and I don't want to take advantage of you either."

"I don't want that," Sherlock said. "Not now, I mean. I just want to be close to you." He curled around John. He just wanted to feel safe.

"Okay," John said, crawling into the bed with Sherlock and pulling him close. "I was worried about you. I'm glad you're home," he said as he rubbed Sherlock's arm.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. "I didn't mean to worry you. I suppose I knew I was but I had to . . ." He pulled John's arm closer.

"I know, love. Do you want to talk about it? About anything?"

"I've told everyone everything I should have said before," Sherlock said. "I don't know what will happen now but . . . I let it out."

"The letters?" John asked softly. "You don't have to tell me. Only if you want to."

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Wait . . . what do you mean?"

"If you want to talk about what you wrote or anything. You don't have to . . ." John said quietly.

"That's not what I mean," Sherlock said. "You said letters . . . I gave you one letter."

"You gave me two. And I saw you at the grave, leaving one for your mum," he admitted quietly.

Sherlock pulled away a little, lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. "Why didn't you . . .?" his voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what he thought about that, about John being there then.

John lifted up to look at him. "I was looking for you and I checked there as a last resort. I was just happy that you were alive and I knew you didn't want to be found yet. If you had you would have come home. I just gave you your space."

That was good, Sherlock thought. That was the only right answer. He snuggled into John again. "Let's not talk for a bit," he said. "I just want to be here with you."

"Okay," John said, curling against him again and closing his eyes. "I love you." He said it softly and then remained quiet, just lying with Sherlock.

Sherlock lay beside John, holding tightly onto him. He recognised the smell of John, the smell of his bed, the smell of John in his bed. "Have you been sleeping in my bed?" he asked. His voice was a whisper as if he were breaking his own rule about not speaking.

John nodded against Sherlock's chest and didn't say anything else.

Sherlock listened to John's breathing. How could such a simple sound make such a difference? For the first time since his mother died, Sherlock felt . . . well, he wasn't sure what the word was. Soft, maybe, his body felt soft, his muscles released. He felt open. He closed his eyes and listened to John's breathing until he fell into a soft sleep.

John was listening to Sherlock's heart beating and slowly coming down. His breathing deepened and relaxed and John wondered if this was the first time Sherlock had slept since he heard the news.  John stayed still and quiet so that Sherlock could rest.

Sherlock slept for a while but woke up with a start. He had a moment of confusion and then he remembered where he was and why John was with him. He pressed against him, crying. "Oh God, John," he said between sobs. "My mother's dead." His hands gripped John too tightly.

John started and then gripped him tightly, petting his hair. "Shh, love. I know . . .I'm so sorry," he said softly. He rocked Sherlock lightly, holding him close.

It felt like Sherlock cried for hours, for days, weeks, months -- he cried for all the years he hadn't cried. He held onto John and let it all come out.

After a while, Sherlock lifted his face from John's chest and reached for the sheet to wipe it. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Don't apologise, love. It's okay," John said, wiping his face and moving the hair from his eyes. 

Sherlock let his arms fall around John. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted, feeling more tears coming.

"You don't have to do anything but let it all out, Sherlock. As long as you need to. It's okay. I'll be right here with you, okay?" 

"I mean, I don't know how to do any of it," Sherlock said. "Be the same as I was . . . be with you . . . I don't know how to do any of it."

"You don't have to go back to being the same. It won't be the same -- you won't be -- because of the loss you've experienced," John said gently. "But you can move forward. We will do that together."

"You know everything, John," Sherlock said. "I know nothing." He wasn't even quite sure what he meant, but it felt true.

"Not true," John said, smiling softly and settling back comfortably with him. "I can't even name three kinds of tobacco."

Sherlock smiled weakly. "Well knowing that's not done me too much good, has it?" he said.

"But that just proves that I don't know everything and I am fine. And you will be fine too." John kissed his forehead lightly.

Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbows and looked on John's face. He put his hand up to his cheek and gave him a soft kiss. "I need to ask you something," he said.

"Okay," John said, gazing up at him and trying not to panic. 

"It's important to me . . ." Sherlock said, looking down and grabbing his hand. He rang his fingers over his skin. ". . . that you forgive me for what I did . . . you know, what happened in this bed before. I didn't . . . want it to be like that."

"Sherlock, I can't forgive you for something that I don't think was wrong," he said. "We all grieve in different ways and at the time that's what you needed. But I love you and I know that you love me so next time it's going to be different." 

Sherlock curled around John again, holding him tightly. "I'm still sorry . . . "

"It's okay, Sherlock. How about we get up and get some food? Then we can change and get back into bed for the night?" John asked. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He got up and stretched a bit. He stood up and pulled on John's arm. "Come on."

John got up and smiled softly at him, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson brought me food this morning and I have some leftovers from a couple days ago. Want me to order something?"

"Yes, please," Sherlock said. He stood behind John, so glad to be back home with him again.

John got the take out menus out and ordered Thai food, moving across the kitchen to hug Sherlock again. He couldn't get enough of him -- he was so glad Sherlock was home again. 

"We should tell Mrs Hudson I'm home," he said, holding onto John, not wanting to step away. "Did anyone else know?"

"Lestrade did," John admitted. "I asked him for help because I know he knows more spots that you might have been visiting." 

"Did you think I was using?" Sherlock asked.

"It crossed my mind," John said quietly. 

"I didn't," Sherlock said. "I didn't." He pressed against John again, almost putting all his weight on him. His stomach growled.

"I know, Sherlock. I could tell when I saw you," he said, looking up and kissing his lips softly. "I know." He heard the door and John slipped out of Sherlock's arms to go and get the door. After paying he stopped at Mrs. Hudson's, letting her know that Sherlock was home safe. He stopped her from going up and promised her she could tomorrow. He headed back up and put the food on the table. "Dinner is served," he smiled. 

Sherlock watched John eat. "You look too thin, John," Sherlock said. "I'm worried about you." He took a bite of his own food and then another.

"Well, I wasn't really eating all week," he said quietly. "This will do us both some good." 

Sherlock ate more. "We're going to have to get back on track," he said. "You looked more handsome before I left." He smiled lightly.

John looked up and smiled shyly, shaking his head. "I'll get back there," he said. 

"Have you been to work?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "No," he said, looking up at him. 

"John, god, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "Look, I'll clean up the flat tomorrow while you're gone. I'll do whatever you want to make it up to you." He finished off his food. He put his hand on his belly. "My stomach hurts a bit," he said quietly.

John put his food down and moved across the kitchen to Sherlock. He cupped Sherlock's cheeks and met his gaze. "Sherlock, I am not going to lie to you and say that I wasn't scared and sad while you were gone, but the point is that I love you so when you're hurting, I'm hurting. I don't want you to feel bad about that." 

"I do feel bad -- I caused it," Sherlock said, standing up and moving to the sink. "Just let me make it up to you." He sat down again. "Do you think that food was bad or something? My stomach's killing me."

"Well, you ate faster than you normally do and if you haven't been eating, it happens," John said. "Do you want anything for it?" John was trying to move away from the topic of Sherlock making anything up to him. 

"I think I need to lie down," Sherlock said. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to finish eating and clean up. I'll come join you in a few minutes, okay?" John smiled and stroked his hair lightly. 

"I'll lie down on the sofa until you're ready," Sherlock said, moving to the sofa. "Or I could help?" he asked standing up again.

"Go to bed, love, before you make yourself sick," John said. "It'll be okay. It won't take long."

Sherlock lay down on the sofa. "I'll stay here," he said. "Don't get cross at me."

"I'm not cross," John assured him, leaning on the counter to finish eating. When he did he put the leftovers away and cleaned up a bit. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I think it's passed." He sat up a bit. "I didn't really eat much while I was gone," he admitted. "But that was the only bad habit . . . I swear." He got up and went over to John. "I'll try harder to eat, John. I don't want you to worry."

"Let's go lay down, okay?"

Sherlock followed John into his room. "I want to put my pajamas on," he said. He got a clean pair out from the drawer, quickly slipping them on. He opened up the bag he had taken and dumped it in the corner. "I'll do the laundry tomorrow." He crawled into the bed. "God, this bed feels good. I admit it's nicer than where I had been sleeping. Especially with you here," he added, smiling.

"Can I ask where you were sleeping?" John asked as he stripped down to his pants and climbed up with Sherlock.

"The hospital one night, the library the others. Until last night. I went to see Mycroft," he said, feeling stupid. "I had a letter for him as well." The last week or so was a blur and in many ways, he was glad his memories were foggy. "I'm glad I'm home," he said curling against John. "With you. That's home."

"I'm glad you're home too," John said, not pressing him for more details.

"John," Sherlock said. "I do love you. I know I don't have a lot of experience with it, but I know I do. I'm sure."  
  
"I believe you, Sherlock," John said. He closed his eyes and he felt good for the first time in a while.

Sherlock shifted a little, trying to get comfortable with all the changes. Eventually, he was able to sleep and it felt so good to be back in his own bed.

John was up for a while longer, his body used to all of the late nights he had been pulling, only this time he wasn't anxious and sad. He listened to Sherlock's breathing slow and even out as he slept and eventually John followed him, his arms slackening around Sherlock as he drifted off. 


	8. Not The Same As It Was

Sherlock slept through the whole night, which meant as soon as he woke up, he needed the toilet quite urgently. He slipped out of bed, went to the bathroom and made some tea. He brought two mugs back to the bedroom. "Are you working today?" he said in a whisper but extremely close to John's ear so it'd definitely wake him up.

John shifted and stretched before he opened his eyes and blinked at Sherlock. "Yeah, I am," he said. He sat up and took his tea, thanking him. 

Sherlock pulled a bit of a face. "Well, what am I supposed to do while you're gone all day?" he asked. He felt kind of grumpy and thought maybe his stomach was hurting and then he worried a bit about that.

"The same thing you always do when I am gone. Text me about how bored you are while I assure you that I'll be home soon," he smiled. 

Somehow that didn't seem right to Sherlock. Didn't seem enough. But instead he said, "Okay then." He drank his tea. "What time will you be home, though? I mean, just so I know."

"I am scheduled until six so it won't be too bad," John said. He leaned over and kissed Sherlock's cheek. 

"Are you going right now?" Sherlock asked. He sounded panicky. Was he panicky? He wasn't sure. He hoped John didn't hear it as panicky.

"Couple hours," John said. "I don't start until ten."

"Okay, good, fine, I mean, whenever you have to leave is fine," Sherlock said. He put his mug on the table and snuggled down into the bed again. "Did you sleep okay? Are you going to sleep in here forever do you think?"

"I slept very well," John smiled, not adding that it was the best all week. "How about you?"

"Yes, it was good," Sherlock said. "Maybe I will sleep the day away. Until you get home, I mean." The memory of the last case he solved flashed in his mind -- and what had happened the following day. "I don't think I feel like working yet," he added.

"You know, I can ask for a few more days off and we can just lay about in your bed and tangle ourselves up and watch films and eat and whatever else we want," John grinned. 

That was precisely what Sherlock wanted, but for some reason it felt like he shouldn't say that. So instead he said, "No, I've already caused you to miss enough work this week. We'll do that when you get home. Promise?" He curled around John.

"I promise," John said, wrapping his arms around Sherlock again. "Give me a rundown of your plans for the day -- it's good to have a plan, I think."

"Um, I don't have a plan," Sherlock said. "What do you think I should do?"

"You can clean, sleep, cook, experiment, text me, visit Mrs Hudson, clean . . ." He smiled and kissed Sherlock's head. "The possibilities are endless."

"I'll go speak to Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "And text you. And sleep." He looked over and smiled. "Did you say something about cleaning?"

"Damn, I need to work on my subliminal messaging," John said, smiling. "But that's a good plan -- I think she will like to see you."

"Does she know about everything?"

John nodded.

"Do you think seeing her will make me feel bad?" Sherlock said. "I don't want to feel bad anymore, even though I know I shouldn't have run away. . . I just don't want to feel sad anymore."

"She's not going to blame you, you know she's better than that," John said. "But she'll be happy you're back and she might scold you." He smiled softly and dipped to meet his gaze. "The usual Mrs Hudson." 

"And do I seem like the usual Sherlock Holmes?" he asked, fiddling a bit with John's hair for absolutely no reason at all.

"Mostly," John said, leaning into his touch a bit.

"You seem like the usual John Watson, I guess," Sherlock said. "Well not really. Better, I think."

"Better? I'm not so sure," John smiled.

"Because I can do this," Sherlock said. He reached over and gave John a small kiss on the lips.

John grinned. "That makes a happier John," he said.

"All right, come on," Sherlock said. "Let's stop being silly and get up." He stretched a little. "You should get ready."

John grinned and kissed his cheek before getting up. He stretched again and made his way to the bathroom to get ready. When he came out he went to make breakfast.

Sherlock refilled the kettle as John got ready. He sat down at the table when John came into the kitchen. "Let me watch you make breakfast and then I can do it for you each morning from now on," he said, watching John closely.

John smiled softly but didn't argue as he fried up a couple eggs and made his toast. "Easy," he said as he worked.

"So you say," Sherlock said. "If the flat's on fire tomorrow morning, you might regret that comment." He smiled at John. He wished John wouldn't leave even though it was kind of stupid. If things were supposed to go back to normal, he should try to be more normal. He didn't feel normal, but he could try harder to at least act that way. He stood up and picked a book from his shelf. "I guess I'll read this today," he said, moving over to lie on the sofa. 

"See? You're finding things already," John smiled. He ate quickly and got his things together. "I will see you later okay? Before you know it." He kissed Sherlock's head and left for work.

Sherlock tried to read after John left. He realised he was simply staring at the page. So he tried to do that for a little longer, before he finally gave up and set down the book. He closed his eyes, thinking that perhaps he could sleep through some of the time that John was away. But that didn't happen. He opened his eyes and looked over at the desk. No, he wasn't ready for that yet. He got up and drew himself a bath. He stripped off and sunk into the water.

Sherlock's bath ate up a little bit of time so once he was out and dry, he thought it might be all right to send a text.

_Everything's fine so far. SH_

It was a bit vague, but that was okay.

John was having a slow day at the office, hardly anyone was coming in. He smiled at Sherlock's message.

_Good. How's your book? -JW_

_Fine. I'm going to see Mrs Hudson now. Come home soon please. SH_

_I will. -JW_

John hoped everything would go all right with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock smiled at the text and headed downstairs.

When Mrs Hudson opened her door, she immediately pulled Sherlock into an embrace. "I'm so sorry about your mum," she said. "But don't do that to us again, you horrible person."  
  
"Do what?" Sherlock said as she let him go. He followed her into the kitchen where she started to make tea.

"Run off," she said. "Don't run off again."

"You said 'us' -- don't do that to 'us'," Sherlock said as he reached for some biscuits. "Who is us?"  
  
"Me and John," Mrs Hudson said. She turned with the mugs and sat down with him at the table.

"I love John," Sherlock said stupidly.

"Do you now?" Mrs Hudson said, taking a sip of tea.

"I do. Why? Do you think I don't?" he asked, a little worried. He knew Mrs Hudson had a certain wisdom about her and he valued her opinion.

"Of course I know you do," she said, giving him a little smile. "I knew it all along. But I suppose . . . just . . ."  
  
"What?" he said. "Tell me."

"Will you promise that you'll come speak to me if something comes up? If you're not sure, don't make any decisions on your own," she said. "No -- sorry -- that's not precisely what I meant. I just mean . . . Sherlock, you know you don't have much experience in this department, correct?"  
  
"I know," he said. "But that doesn't mean it's not true."  
  
She smiled softly. "I know it's true, love, I know that. But sometimes . . . well, sometimes you're a bit daft about . . . feelings. Don't hurt, John. If you're not sure about something -- if you think it might hurt John -- you'll come speak to me, yeah?"

"Fine," Sherlock said. He stared into his cup of tea. He was quiet for a moment. "Do you think I'll hurt John? I don't want to. Ever. No matter what."

Mrs Hudson reached over and touched his hand. "I absolutely believe you, Sherlock. But sometimes things hurt even if there's no bad intention."

"Like what?"

"Well, sometimes on cases, you trick people, right? Not to be mean, but to get them to tell you what you need. The ends justifies the means, right? Well, things like that can hurt -- even if you think it's the right thing to do, you could hurt someone who loves you."

"Does John love me?" Sherlock asked.

"Did he tell you he did?" she asked.

Sherlock's face felt warm but he wasn't sure if it was shyness or happiness. "Yes," he said softly.

"Then he must," she said. "Because John Watson doesn't lie." She squeezed his hand. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Sherlock. Just be a little more mindful now, okay? Things can't be the same as they were."

"They aren't the same," Sherlock said. "They're different. I want to do everything for John. I want to be around him all the time. Whatever John wants, I'll do it."

Mrs Hudson smiled at him again. He was such a little boy in so many ways. "Okay," she said. She stood up and got some food from the fridge. She brought it to the table and started to make a sandwich, knowing Sherlock was likely to pick at the food. He did. "I can make you a sandwich," she offered.

"No thank you," he said. "Not hungry." He picked up a piece of cheese and nibbled it.

"I went to the funeral," she said softly. "It was lovely. Sad, of course, but worthy of the good woman she was. She was a good woman, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't say anything. His mother had deserved a good service and he was glad she got it. He was also glad Mrs Hudson had gone.

"Have you said goodbye?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Yes," he said. "I . . . I tried to do right by her."  
  
Mrs Hudson leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the top of his head. Her eyes were tipped with tears, thinking about how Sherlock seemed even more like a child right now. She stepped back and wiped her hands on her a cloth. "All right, if you're not eating with me, you'd best get out of here. Go upstairs and tidy the flat before your boyfriend gets home," she said, smiling.

Sherlock gave her a quick kiss and headed upstairs. Cleaning the flat had been mentioned twice now so he decided that's how he'd spend the rest of the afternoon. He straightened up first and then began proper cleaning. He worked all afternoon and then showered. He lay down on the sofa to wait for John's return.

The surgery was so slow that John got out two hours early. He was going to head straight home when he ran into Mike on his way out. Mike invited him for coffee and since Sherlock wasn't expecting him home right then anyways he decided to go.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Mike said as they sat in the park.

"I was off -- Sherlock's mum passed and things were a bit hard at home."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mike said.

"Don't mention it to him if you see him, okay? He's still a bit affected by it."

"Of course," Mike agreed. He changed the subject to the surgery and the kids he saw passing through the lab these days. Same old Mike. He didn't ask about John's dating life, but John got the sense that Mike knew what was going on with Sherlock now.

When they finished John thanked him and headed towards the flat, still arriving a half hour early. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock sat up quickly. "I-John, I'm here," he said awkwardly. He got up and hurried to the kitchen. "You said six. Sorry -- let me make you tea."

"I got off early," John said. "It wasn't too busy. Don't stress, love."

"I just wanted to be able to offer you tea, that's all," Sherlock said, bringing it in. "Sit down. Was work fine? I missed you." He could hear his voice and it didn't sound precisely right.

"Yeah, it was so slow today. Sit down with me, I missed you too." John smiled as he took his tea.

Sherlock moved over and sat down next to John, a little too close. So he scooted a bit away. "I guess I don't know really know how to be . . . since I'm not working, I mean. I cleaned the flat," he said, moving his hand in the air to illustrate.

"I noticed," John smiled. He leaned over and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

"Should I make dinner?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, I'm starving. What are you making?" John asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry -- I'm rushing you. I just . . . missed you, I guess. Finish your tea. We'll figure out dinner later."

John glanced down and realised he hadn't touched it yet. "Oh, sorry love. I had coffee with Mike so I'm not feeling the tea right now."

"When did you see Mike? Why? When?" Sherlock asked.

"I told you, I got off early and we went for coffee before I came home," he said.

Sherlock thought about the fact that he'd mainly been waiting for John all day and he wondered why John wouldn't have just come straight home and if that meant he'd changed his mind or if he'd already hurt John too much like Mrs Hudson had said. But he didn't say any of those thoughts. Instead, he said, "Oh, right, okay. Sorry."

"You know I would normally tell you but you didn't expect me home anyways. I know you were bored, I'm sorry," John said as well.

"John, don't apologise," Sherlock said. "Just don't. You don't have to tell me every little thing. Every place you go. We. . . didn't before so. . . it's all fine." He stood up before realising he didn't really have a reason for standing up, so he took his mug to the sink for something to do. "What about dinner then?" he asked from the kitchen.

"I just meant I knew you were waiting for me and it was a bit selfish," John said. He stood and joined Sherlock in the kitchen, hugging him tightly from behind. "What do you know how to make?" he asked. 

"Shush," Sherlock said. "Um, I know how to take you to a restaurant and pay for dinner." He smiled.

"I thought you said you were going to cook me something!" John laughed. 

"Just tell me what to do!" Sherlock said. "I just want to do . . . for you."

"Oh love, anything is fine for me. I heard you mention it before, that's all. Let's go out and save the clean up," John said. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He suggested somewhere other than Angelo's -- he didn't want to risk any going somewhere where he was known in case they'd heard about his mother. They walked to a new place a few streets away and Sherlock even ate a little, but not as quickly as he had eaten last night. When they returned to the flat, Sherlock made them tea again and brought it over to John. He grabbed a blanket and snuggled up close against John on the sofa to watch telly for a bit.

John liked the new place Sherlock picked, glad when Sherlock ate something as well and didn't just pick at his food. John took all of the leftovers home so that Sherlock could pick at them later. While they watched telly John kissed his temple, kissing along down to his jaw.

"I like when you kiss me," Sherlock said. This time he didn't think about whether or not it was silly to say, it was just honest and real. He squeezed in a little closer so he was almost entirely on John's lap. He liked the feeling of John's arm around him.

John tugged Sherlock's hips and helped him into his lap. He gazed up at him for a moment before kissing his mouth. It was soft but intense. His thumbs rubbed circles on Sherlock's hips.

"John," Sherlock exhaled. He let himself sink into John, feeling safe and comfort. And warmth -- he could feel his whole body warming with John's touch. He kissed John back, slipping his arm around his waist.

John slid his hands around and rubbed Sherlock's back, pecking kisses on his lips now, almost teasing and smiling softly. 

Sherlock closed his eyes when he saw John's smile. This was so nice -- he wished John would stay here always like this. But he knew John couldn't, and Sherlock couldn't either. Sherlock had to start living again. He knew that. But not for this moment. For this moment, he could stay like this. His whole body was soft in John's arms and he stayed there, letting John hold him. 

John moved his hands slowly, tugging at the hem line of Sherlock's shirt, slipping his fingers in to touch his warm skin. It was nice feeling Sherlock's weight on him.

"Should we go to bed soon?" Sherlock asked. "I'm getting sleepy." He curled up a little more. Secretly he wished John would carry him to bed, take off all his clothes and just hold him, touching his skin like this as Sherlock fell to sleep.

"We can go now," John murmured. He turned off the telly and before Sherlock could move he tried to lift him to carry him.

"John, I'm not a baby," Sherlock said. "Let me walk -- I don't want to hurt your back." He let John put him down. "I need the toilet anyway." He gave him a kiss and went into the bathroom.

John sighed softly and went to get ready himself, putting on pajamas and waiting for his turn in the bathroom.

Sherlock came out and moved to the bedroom. He stripped himself of his clothes, but tonight he only put on his pajama bottoms. He crawled into bed to wait for John.

John brushed his teeth and came back quickly, crawling in beside him. "How're you feeling?"

"I feel fine," Sherlock said. Then he thought for a moment. "Why? Why are you asking?"

"I just wondered," he said, taking his hand as they lay there.

"Sorry," Sherlock mumbled. He wished he wasn't so panicky all the time. Was it still because of 'shock' as John had said or just because so many things had changed? "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I feel good," John smiled softly. "I love lying with you. Being with you."

"I like it too, John," Sherlock said. "So much." He curled around John. "I like . . ." his voice trailed off.

John waited for a moment before encouraging him on. "What else?" He murmured.

"I like when you. . . take care of me," Sherlock said. "It's odd -- I mean, it's odd that I like it. I hope it's okay."

"It's not so odd. I like taking care of you," John smiled.

Sherlock pressed his head into John's shoulder. "It is odd . . . for me to like it. Admit that. Plus, I don't just like it -- I feel like I . . . need it. I guess it's just a little worrying."

"Sherlock, that's what relationships are all about. Needing each other. Sometimes one needs more than the other. It's normal." John kissed his forehead and smiled softly.

"What do you need from me? Just tell me, John," Sherlock said. "I'm worried I won't know. Just tell me now and I promise, I'll do it tomorrow." 

"No, not like that, love. I don't need anything now. I'm just saying," John said. "Don't worry so much, okay?"

"That's easy for you to say -- you know what to do," Sherlock said as he turned away from John. "Look, I need you to spoon me and touch me skin, okay? If you're so clever about all this, why haven't you figured that out yet? I even took off my shirt -- come on, John Watson, the clues are all there." He closed his eyes as he pressed his head into the pillow, waiting for John's touch.

"I can't read your mind Sherlock," John said as he scooted close and wrapped an arm around him tightly. "And I don't always know what to do."

"Yes, you do," Sherlock said softly. "You always do the best for me." He pushed back against John.

"Well, I'm glad you think so." John kissed the back of his neck. "You're doing fine by me too, okay? I want you to believe that."

"I'll try to believe you," Sherlock said. "Mrs Hudson says you never lie." He pulled on one of John's hands, grasping it to his belly. "This is comfortable."

John played his fingers over Sherlock's skin and hummed his agreement. "She's right," he murmured. 

"I won't lie to you, John," Sherlock said. His voice was sleepy because he was now sleepy. He closed his eyes as he started to drift away.

John rubbed his belly and chest lightly until he fell asleep and only then did he settle and close his eyes and finally go to sleep. 


	9. Still Not The Same

In the morning, Sherlock woke before John's alarm. He snuggled into him, liking the feel of his skin touching John's. However, when John needed to get up to get ready, Sherlock let him go. He didn't want him to but he tried not to pout. Or at least tried not to pout yet. Once John was at work, Sherlock devoted all his time to pouting. He didn't check his email or call his brother or Lestrade. He didn't think he was ready yet -- well, he wasn't sure if he was ready yet because he didn't even allow himself to think about it. He was sure that all he had energy was pouting about being away from John.

This was the strategy he took for the next few days. It was really unpleasant being away from John. He kind of felt like there was no point . . . . to anything if John weren't by him. He occasionally sent texts to convey this thought (or a slightly more restrained version of this thought). He spent a few afternoons with Mrs Hudson, but he didn't explain his feelings to her. Even though she had offered to help, he was worried that even just asking would be evidence that he was failing somehow. He knew that if that were true, Mrs Hudson's face would indicate it, and he couldn't risk seeing that.

John liked being back at work, but he couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock at home. He wasn't doing much these past few days -- he hadn't asked about cases and yet he seemed fine just sitting at home and waiting for John. As happy as John was to get Sherlock out of his room and to have him home, this was worrying him as well. Sherlock hadn't even attempted to shoot a wall yet out of boredom. On his break John searched the news and found a slew of cases to bring home to Sherlock. He would approach the topic slowly and see what happened. 

On his way home he picked up dinner and came in calling for Sherlock. Not that he needed to, usually Sherlock was just sitting there, waiting for him to walk in. "How was your day?" John asked him.

Sherlock rolled up off the sofa. "It's just starting now, I guess," he said, trying to rush into the kitchen. "The kettle's just boiled -- I'll get your tea." He clicked the kettle on again, dropping tea bags into two mugs. "Were you busy today?" he asked. They'd only exchanged a few texts, and that had made Sherlock's day pass even more slowly.

"Yeah, it was pretty busy today. Sherlock, you don't have to wait on me hand and foot, you know." John smiled and sipped at his tea before moving to serve the food. 

"I'm not waiting on you," Sherlock said. "I just thought I was being nice." He sat down. "Do you not want the tea then?"

"I do," John smiled. "I just meant in general." He gave Sherlock his plate and started eating. "There was a lot going on in the news today."

Sherlock fiddled with his food. "You mean there was a lot going on at work?"

"No, I mean in the news. I was thinking I could take a couple days off and we could work on a case." He watched Sherlock closely as he said it.

Sherlock stared at his plate. "I don't think so . . ." he said. "If you don't want to go into work, just stay here with me."

"How come?" John asked gently.

"Just . . . I don't know, John," Sherlock said. "I just want to be here with you."  
  
"We can just do a small one, something easy," John insisted. 

"Are you bored with me, John?" Sherlock asked softly. 

"What? Sherlock, no," John said quickly. "No. It's just . . .you used to shoot the walls for something to do. Boredom was like a curse and I just want to get you being . . . you again." John swallowed hard. "I just want you to be happy again."

"You make me happy now, John," Sherlock said. He listened to the words coming out of his mouth and tried to think about what they meant. He'd never thought much about happiness -- when he was busy and working, he felt satisfied and that had felt close enough. Until John moved in and suddenly things were even better. That was probably the happiest Sherlock had ever been.

And then his mother died and everything changed in every way and then even things with John had changed and now he didn't feel sad anymore. That was happiness, right?

He got up and made another cup of tea. "You want me to be me again, but . . . that Sherlock had a mother who was alive. This is Sherlock now, I think, John." He drank some tea. "Maybe you won't like him as much."

"Sherlock, you're grieving. I understand that and I know it can make everything seem different but slowly . . . we have to move forward," John said. "I know it's hard . . .we can do it together."

"We are moving forward, John," Sherlock said. "You're my boyfriend now . . . that's different, right?"

"Yes," John nodded. "But I mean the other stuff that you used to love as well. It's okay to like those things still," he said. 

Sherlock swallowed. "I don't know . . ." he mumbled. "Love, it's a bit . . . . confusing, I guess." He set his mug down. "Do we have to keep talking about this?"

John shook his head. "Not tonight, but we will again soon, okay?" He moved over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. 

"Maybe," Sherlock said, pressing into John. This was so good -- he wished this was the only thing he ever had to do, just being held by John like this. He waited until John's grasp loosening and then he stepped back, picking up the dishes and washing them. "What is the plan for the evening?"

"I thought we could cuddle on the couch and maybe snog some more," John smiled softly. Slowly they would get back to normal -- to their new normal.

"I vote for that," Sherlock said. Once he'd finished the washing up, he moved into the bedroom to put his pajamas on and then sat down on the sofa, waiting for John. He realised he felt quite eager -- it was the most excited he'd felt all day.

John put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth before joining Sherlock on the sofa and looking for something to watch, or at least have on in the background.

"Kissing, please," Sherlock said. He shifted close to John and kissed his neck. "I can't believe we never did this before . . . you really should have tried it on with me instead of going out with all those women."

"You're right, I should have," John murmured, tilting his head to give Sherlock more room.

Sherlock slipped his hand inside John's t-shirt as he continued to kiss on his neck. "Your skin is quite nice," he said. "I like touching it."

"I like when you touch me," John said softly.

"You touch me, too," Sherlock said. He reached down and untucked his t-shirt and pushed John's hand inside. Then he returned to slowly stroking John's chest. This time he moved up and kissed John's mouth.

John let his hand roam anywhere he could reach, including passing over Sherlock's nipples a few times as they kissed. 

Sherlock shivered a bit at John's touch but it still felt good since the rest of his body seemed to be heating up. He moved his mouth to John's ear and traced its edges with his tongue.

John shuddered lightly and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist, holding his back and rubbing hard, half pulling him closer.

"Is this okay?" Sherlock asked, pulling John even closer. "Is it okay to do this?"

"Yes," John breathed, leaning his head into Sherlock. Every inch of him wanted so much more of Sherlock. 

Sherlock continued to kiss John -- his ear, his neck, his face and mouth. His body moved against him, rocking ever so slightly.

"Sherlock, this feels so good," John moaned softly, trying to move his body with Sherlock's. 

Sherlock hummed in agreement but he said, "Should we stop? I mean, we've not . . . properly yet. Should we stop now?"  
  
"Do you want to stop?" John asked, his hands stilling but staying flush against Sherlock's skin.

"I . . . I don't know, John," Sherlock said. He stopped moving and rested his head on the side of John's. He didn't want to stop -- not at all -- but his heart still felt quite anxious, worried that he wasn't being a good enough boyfriend. And if they had sex now, it might remind John of what had happened before he'd left and how selfish Sherlock had been. "Maybe we should just get ready for bed and sleep."  
  
John nodded and turned to kiss his cheek softly. "Whatever you want, love." He pressed one more kiss to his cheek before shifting to get up slowly. 

Sherlock walked with John to the bedroom and got into bed. He snuggled up against him, but just lightly stroked his arm with his hand. "I love you, don't forget," he said softly.

"I love you too, Sherlock. I don't want you to forget either." John closed his eyes and settled against him a bit more comfortably. He remembered to set his alarm while he was at work so he didn't have to now.

Sherlock thought about John saying he loved him. He hoped it was true. He knew he wasn't particularly loveable but still, he really hoped it was true. He kissed the sleeve of John's t-shirt and tried to settle in to sleep.

John's breathing slowed and eventually he drifted off to sleep. It was nice sleeping with Sherlock-warm and comfortable. He also hasn't had a nightmare since they had started this.

Sherlock dreamt about John. It was lovely and sweet and then . . . it was sexy. When he woke up, he realised he had an erection. He stayed as still as he could, barely even breathing, trying to make it go away. Eventually it did. He turned on his side but then John's alarm went off.

John blinked his eyes open and groped around for his phone, turning the alarm off and holding it on his belly as he got mentally ready to get up.

Sherlock turned on his side. "Morning," he said quietly. He didn't kiss John yet, worried the erection would return. "I'll get up and make you breakfast. Eggs or cereal?"

"Mmm, eggs please." John sat up and stretched, kissing Sherlock's temple before making his way to the bathroom with the towel.

Sherlock made the breakfast as best he could and set the plate and a mug of tea on the table for John. He sat down with his own tea.

John took a quick shower so he could sit with Sherlock longer, joining him a few minutes later. "This looks great," he smiled, digging in.

"Well . . . it's edible at least," Sherlock said, making a small smile. He drank some tea. "I might . . . check my email today," he said tentatively.

John looked up and smiled. "That's good, Sherlock. If you get overwhelmed just... close it or and text me, okay?" 

"I won't get overwhelmed . . ." Sherlock said. "I haven't decided yet. Don't get angry if I don't, okay?"

"I won't!" John said a little defensively. "Whatever you want to do today is fine. The fact that you're even thinking about it is good."

Sherlock didn't say anything else. He didn't say that he was only thinking about it because he was worried John thought he was boring now. He didn't say that he wasn't convinced he'd ever be able to open his email again. He didn't say anything else, just finished his tea.

John stood and put his plate in the sink, kissing the top of his head. "I'm off. I'll see you when I get home, okay?"

"Have a good day," Sherlock called. He waited for John to leave and then moved to the sofa. He didn't open his laptop.


	10. Sherlock Tries Harder

John went into the nearly empty office and knew it was going to be another slow day. He sat back in his chair and kept his phone close in case Sherlock texted him for anything. He wished they had called and told him not to come in. It was clear he wasn't needed today.

Sherlock thought about John. He was glad they loved each other. He was glad he was John's boyfriend even though he'd never been anyone's boyfriend and still wasn't quite sure how to do it. He thought about before -- when John was chasing women. He didn't think much about the women, but instead thought about the things John had done. He decided tonight he would try those things. He'd be more romantic -- get dressed up and take John out. Maybe he should buy John a present? He got online to start looking for things. He didn't open his Inbox.

He found a watch that he thought John might like. He got dressed and headed down to the jeweller a few streets over. He found the watch and bought it. On the way back, he was feeling better. He was feeling like he could do this. He got back to the flat and set the box on the table before going to take a bath.

By the time it was lunch time Sarah told John to just go home. He went to find Mike and offered to buy him lunch in return for the other day. They chatted about work and talked a bit about Sherlock.

During his bath Sherlock thought about the fact that he hadn't been working. He honestly hadn't wanted to-- he'd only wanted to be with John. But he knew John couldn't be at the flat with him all the time. Just because Sherlock wished that didn't make it an actual possibility. He thought about what John said about before, about the things that had made Sherlock ‘Sherlock’ before all this happened. Were those things really who Sherlock was? Could he have those and be John's boyfriend as well? He didn't know.

But what he did know is that right now he wasn't working and John was. John was working hard, helping a lot of people, while all Sherlock did is lie around at home pining. Sherlock would make tonight a good night -- he would make it so John was glad to come home to him after a long, hard day of work. He got out of the bath and got dressed up. He tidied up and waited for John to come home. The present was still sitting on the table.

When Mike and John finished, they parted ways and John headed back towards the flat.

_I'm on my way home. -JW_

Sherlock jumped at John's text, and then realised perhaps he was too anxious. He took a few deep breaths and tried to relax. He slipped the box with John's watch into his pocket.

John walked up into the flat and smiled when he saw Sherlock was dressed and seemed ready to go. Maybe he had picked a case after all. "What's going on?" he asked, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Let me take you out tonight," Sherlock said giving John a kiss back. "I want to give you a treat tonight -- I want to give you a special night." He smiled at John. "Do you want a shower first or to change or anything? You look handsome, you don't have to change, I just want you to feel comfortable. Whatever you want . . . just -- tell me what you're ready to go." None of it came out as smoothly as he'd planned it to.

"Oh," John said, deflating just a little bit. "Well, thank you. I don't need to change, let's go out," he said. "Work was good today."

"I made a plan," Sherlock said, grabbing John and pulling him out. "Remember when you said it was good to have a plan? I made one." They walked along the street. "Angelo's first."

"I'm all yours," John said. "What did you do today? Just worked on this?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, smiling. "It kind of took all day, but it was good to be busy." He hadn't really thought about that at the time, but it had been true.

"I'm glad that one of us was," John smiled. "I was a bit bored to be honest."

"You should have come home to take care of me," Sherlock said. He opened the door and let John walk to their usual table. It was practically covered in candles with a vase of red roses right in the middle. Sherlock nodded at Angelo to thank him.

"I was . . ." John's words trailed off as he saw the table. "What's all of that?" he asked softly.

"It's special . . . for you," Sherlock said, sitting down. "It's for you," he repeated stupidly.

"Oh," John breathed, sighing softly as he sat down at the table. He moved the flowers so he could see Sherlock better. "This is really nice."

Sherlock face felt warm. "I just wanted to make a special night for you after you worked all day," he said. "And to thank you . . . you know, for everything."

"Oh but I hardly worked today . . ." John said, trailing off again. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock reached over and held John's hand. "I want to make you happy," he said. "I want to treat you right." He looked up and Angelo was there with a bottle of wine. He smiled as Angelo poured two glasses. He picked his up and said, "To us." He blushed again and took a sip.

John lifted the glass and took a sip, feeling his face warm with happiness. "To us," he agreed.

Angelo returned and they ordered their food. While they waited for it to arrive, Sherlock said, "I thought we could go on a short walk before going back to the flat." He smiled at John.

"Yeah, I'd like that," he said.

Their meals arrived and they spent the time talking about the few patients John had seen. Once they'd finish Angelo brought over a small dish with John's favourite dessert on it. Sherlock smiled over at him. Another server brought over two teas.

"You really thought of everything," John smiled, digging into his dessert.

Sherlock felt quite pleased by how everything was going. He pulled the box out of his pocket and set it in front of John. "I got you a present," he said softly.

"Sherlock, you didn't have to," John murmured, feeling his face heat. He pulled the box close and opened it, biting his lip. The watch was lovely. "I . . . thank you."

Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's hand. "Look at me, John, listen," he said quietly. "I _know_ I didn't have to. I know being together isn't just about gifts and treats like this. But I also know that I can never properly explain how grateful I am for all the things you have done for me. Not just recently -- but ever since we first met. I just wanted one evening to be all about you . . . to thank you."

John gripped his hand and nodded. "Sherlock, I love you so much. Thank you. I mean it. And you've done so much for me as well and I hope that you know that."

"Shush," Sherlock said, smiling. "Tonight's about you. Save sweet things about me for another night." Once John had finished his dessert, they got up and made their way out to the street. "No specific destination," Sherlock said, grabbing John's hand and holding it. "Just a little walk before home." He looked up ahead at the city -- the lights and the people.

"Okay. I like that," he said, squeezing his hand.

They walked quietly for a while. Sherlock felt quite relaxed and enjoyed himself. Eventually, he turned and said, "It's getting a little chilly. Shall we head home now?"

"Yes. We can cuddle and warm up," he smiled. He laced their fingers and swung their hands lightly.

After a few moments, they heard someone call their names. They turned and saw Mike heading towards them.

"Hey," Mike called. "Where have you two been?"  
  
"Just out to dinner," Sherlock said, squeezing John's hand.

"Must have been fancy," Mike said. "Dressed up and all. Sorry, John, I didn't know you had plans tonight -- I hope I didn't hold you up."

"Oh no, I had plenty of time. We had a good time tonight," he said, smiling up at Sherlock.

"Well, it was good to see you both," Mike said, putting his hand on Sherlock's arm and giving it a little squeeze. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

Sherlock and John said goodbye and continued on their walk home. "You told him about my mother?" he asked John, though it was more of a statement really.

"Yeah, when he was wondering about where I had been," John said.

"And about my . . . going away? Did you tell him that?"

"No. Just about your mum and that's why I had been away," John said. He looked over at him and squeezed his hand. With all of the surprises at dinner John didn't have a chance to tell him about lunch today.

"And about this?" Sherlock said, lifting their hands. "I realise he knows now, but did you tell him?"

"I think he sorted it out for himself," John said. "I think he knew all along to be honest."

"And this was all last week?" Sherlock asked. "When you bumped into him? What was he talking about when he said he didn't mean to make you late today?"

"We had lunch today because it was even slower than the day last week," John said. "I was trying to tell you before but you kept pulling out surprises and I didn't get a good chance..."

"You left work early?" Sherlock asked. He looked straight ahead.

"Yeah -- well, I went to take my lunch and Sarah told me not to come back because there was nothing to do. I ran into Mike and thought I'd treat him since he did last time," John said. He squeezed Sherlock's hand again. 

"But you didn't think to come home? Or call to invite me?"

"I--it just happened so quickly and I thought I was going back to work after," John said. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"It's okay, John," Sherlock said. He wasn't sure if it was though -- somehow it didn't feel okay. All Sherlock wanted was to be with John, and John knew that. Why hadn't he come straight home to be with Sherlock? He didn't want to think about what that meant. But he couldn't make the question go away.

"Sherlock, I really am sorry," he said again, looking over at him. Sherlock had made such a thoughtful dinner -- a whole evening -- and John hadn't even invited him to lunch. But he was supposed to go back to work. "I didn't want to make you come out and then make you leave again. It was just a quick thing to repay him and I was going back to work but she sent me home. I came home."

Sherlock thought about just not talking -- just ending the conversation. But for some reason he couldn't. "Why would it matter if I came out and then went back? What difference would that have made -- I didn't have anything else to do all day except wait for you."

"I know but . . .but that can't be all you do," he said gently. "You used to hardly notice that I was gone- - you busied yourself with cases and experiments. I love you so much, Sherlock, and I love how much you love me but you used to love other things to and I want you to love them again." John squeezed his hand and wished Sherlock would look over at him. "My getting lunch with a friend wouldn't have bothered you before."

This time Sherlock didn't say anything else. He was thinking. He held onto John's hand for the rest of the walk home.

When they got back to the flat, Sherlock put the kettle on and motioned for John to sit down. He poured two cups of tea and brought them over, setting them on the table before sitting down his chair. 

"John," he said softly. "I need your help."

John nodded. "Anything, love." He watched Sherlock closely and clutched his mug, waiting for what Sherlock was going to say next. 

"I need your forgiveness again," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry I've been . . . using you." He swallowed. "I've not said or done anything that's been untrue -- I've meant every single thing. But I see now I've been using us as an excuse to move on. I'm sorry."

"I don't . . .I don't understand what you mean," John said. He remembered Sherlock talking about taking advantage of him before but that was before he left. "I don't feel used, Sherlock, please . . ." John said. He didn't want to lose him again. 

"As you know I'm not confident with feelings," Sherlock continued. "So even though all of the feelings you give me are good, I got a bit obsessed, I suppose, worried that I was going to do everything wrong." He took a sip of tea. "I don't want to do wrong, John, but I think the real reason I got obsessed was to keep from thinking of other things . . ." 

John reached out for his hand and covered his wrist lightly. "It's okay to have used me as a distraction. That's what friends are for, to get us through tough times so we're not alone," he said.  

"Stop it, John," Sherlock said, pulling his hand away. "Stop saying everything is all right." He reached out and held John's hand softly. "I know you know what I'm talking about, John, because you've said it yourself. I need to go back to work. I need to try to live. It won't be the same, I know that, because I don't have her anymore. And because I have you now . . . in a different way. But you've said it yourself -- I need to go back to all the things that mean something to me rather than only focusing on one." He let his fingers brush against John's skin.

"That's true, Sherlock, and I'm not saying it isn't but it's also okay to need a distraction for a bit. It's okay to need to go back slowly." John rubbed Sherlock's hand lightly.

"John, you are banned from saying the phrase 'It's okay' for the rest of the evening," Sherlock said. "I need something else from you."

"Sorry but you won't believe me. What else do you need?" John asked, sipping at his tea.

"Listen, John, I do believe you, I do trust you -- if I didn't I wouldn't ask this next favour," Sherlock said. "I need you to do something with my email for me."

"Oh, all right," he nodded, looking holding Sherlock's gaze and waiting. He didn't know what Sherlock needed exactly. 

"This is a one-off, you understand," Sherlock said standing up and moving to his desk. "We've always respected each other's privacy and I don't think that should change." He opened his laptop, clicked on the icon and logged on, closing his eyes immediately and returning to his chair. "Could you go sit at my desk, please?"

John got up and moved over to the desk, sitting in front of Sherlock's computer and looking at all of the emails piled up in the inbox. "Okay," he said even though Sherlock could see he had done it. 

Sherlock turned away from the desk and looked over at the wall opposite his chair. "Could you please make a folder called Pencil and add it to the folder called Miscellany?"

"Why Pencil?" John asked.

"Because it is an entirely neutral word," Sherlock answered.

John leaned a bit closer to see better and made the folder, moving it where Sherlock wanted. "Okay," he announced.

"Now I need you to go to my Inbox and move all the ones obviously about her, given their subject lines, to the Pencil folder. If you cannot tell if they are about her, you have my permission to read a few lines to determine if they are. If they are, move them; if they're not, leave them in the Inbox."

John looked over at Sherlock for a moment before doing as he asked. He moved the obvious ones over into the folder he'd created, he only had to open five messages to double check, and after a half hour they were all in the new folder. "Okay," he said again, looking over at Sherlock. 

"Anything from Lestrade -- a case or just . . . something about her or my leaving?" Sherlock asked.

John started opening messages again before shaking his head. "Just cases. Nothing in the Inbox is about her."

"Let's choose a case," Sherlock said.

John nodded and opened the first one. "Do you want to come sit with me and look?" he asked. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He got up and pulled a chair from the kitchen table over next to John. He glanced at his Inbox but didn't see anything that upset him. They read through the emails and put them in order of priority. Sherlock dictated a response to the one at the top of their list and John typed it before hitting send.

Sherlock looked over at John and took his hand. "Thank you," he said softly.

John smiled softly and squeezed his hand. "No problem, love." 

"Let's go to bed," Sherlock said. He leaned it and gave John a soft, long kiss and then stood up to head to his bedroom.


	11. Their New Normal

Sherlock took off his clothes, but got into bed before putting his pajamas on. He waited for John to get in. When he did, he turned on his side and said, "I know that sometimes I'm . . . fragile about emotions, but not all of me is fragile, John."

"I know that, Sherlock." John scooted a bit closer and touched his cheek.

"All right, as long as you know," Sherlock said. He leaned in and kissed John hard as he moved his hand to John's hip. He gripped it tightly. 

John gave a small moan of surprise at the suddenness of the kiss before eagerly returning it, sliding his hand around Sherlock's back and gripping hard, tugging him close so their bodies were flush.

"Can I touch you?" Sherlock said softly against John's cheek. He stretched his fingers a little, moving his hand a bit closer to John's cock.

"God yes," John said, reaching down to do the same to Sherlock.

Sherlock reached over and held John as he kissed his mouth again that started off soft but quickly became more urgent. His fingers wrapped around John and he started a slow stroke. John's hand on his own cock made Sherlock feel warm and even more excited.

"I want you, to take you, to show you how much I love you," John moaned into the kiss. He stroked a bit faster.

John's words pushed Sherlock even further and he could feel his hips instinctively rocking against John's hand. "God, John," he mumbled as his mouth moved to John's neck where he sucked and kissed the skin. His whole body was hot and flushed.

John tilted his head and moaned softly, arching against him.

"I love you, John," Sherlock breathed out. "I want us to have this always . . ." Their hands bumped together as they both stroked and Sherlock imagined them in his head, tangled together in the bed, and it was the most beautiful picture he'd ever seen.

"I love you too, Sherlock. So much," John moved away from him long enough to grab the supplies from Sherlock's drawer. He moved back between his legs and smiled down at him, leaning in for another kiss.

Sherlock watched John move. He gripped John's arm tightly. "I'm not fragile, John," he smiled softly.

John smiled, pushing Sherlock's legs back a bit. He poured out a bit of lube and rubbed gently, making everything wet before pushing his finger in slowly.  

Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt John's finger move into his body. His muscles tightened but he took a breath and began to relax his body again. He reached down to grab a hold of some part of John, squeezing his shoulder tightly. "Yes," he exhaled.

John moved his finger slowly, dipping down to kiss Sherlock's belly. When it was sliding easily, he added a second one, nipping his skin softly.

Sherlock's body began to respond to John's movements, and he pressed down against his fingers. He dropped a hand to his own cock, which he slowly stroked. He wanted to open his eyes and look at John, but he was afraid it would be too much so kept them closed, pressing the back of his head against the pillow.

"So beautiful, Sherlock," John moaned softly. He dipped down to suck Sherlock's balls into his mouth, taking turns with each one as he added a third finger. He was rutting into the mattress, eager to get inside of him.

"God, John, please . . ." Sherlock moaned loudly. "I want . . . everything . . . to feel you." One of his hands started a slow stroke on his own cock while the other pulled on John's shoulder.

John sat up slowly and opened the condom with his teeth before sliding it on. He lined up, leaned over Sherlock and pressed into him slowly. "Oh God, Sherlock," he breathed, feeling the tight heat around him.

Sherlock exhaled sharply as John moved into him. It had been so long since he'd had this feeling. He took a few deep breaths and whispered, "I'm okay . . . it's good." Then he reached up to pull John down close to him, wrapping his arms around his back. He wanted John to be as close as physically possible in this moment.

John started to move his hips, panting into Sherlock's neck and murmuring praises. It felt so good, so good to be so close to him like this.

Sherlock began to feel almost overwhelmed. "Harder, John," he moaned, shifting his legs slightly to better move into John's thrusts. "Please…it's good."

John thrust harder into Sherlock, panting heavier.

"I love you, John, from the first moment probably, I love you and I've wanted this but not like before, like this . . ." Sherlock rambled as if he could control his mouth no more than he could control his hips. "Please, John, never leave me. . . I love you so much." His hand moved fast now on his cock and he could tell he was so close.

"M'not going anywhere . . . I love you so much . . . I . . ." John's words stopped as he came, pushing hard into Sherlock and shuddering through his orgasm. He reached down to stroke Sherlock quickly, willing him to follow.

Sherlock's whole body tightened and he squeezed shut his eyes as he came against their bellies. "John," he called and then immediately wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer. He panted into John's neck as he tried to catch his breath.

John turned so he was lying beside Sherlock instead of on top of him. He stayed close, nuzzling against his cheek and neck while they caught their breaths.

Sherlock shifted a little so they were lying next to each other. "Thank you," he said softly, pushing John's hair out of his eyes. He smiled a little.

"It was amazing. You were amazing," John murmured, taking a hold of his hand.

"Shush up," Sherlock said, smiling. "Remember this time, yeah, not the other, okay?" He squeezed him again. "This is what the first one should have been like."

John smiled. "I will remember both because I love you and they were with you."

"I love you, too, John," Sherlock said. He yawned a little. "I'm exhausted now." He snuggled into John.

"Me too. Let's sleep," he said quietly, pulling the covers up over them better.

Sherlock closed his eyes. His whole body felt tired and he fell asleep with the comfort of John.

John pressed one more kiss to Sherlock's forehead before he drifted off, snoring softly against Sherlock's temple. His mind was clear and calm.

In the morning, Sherlock woke up before John. He looked over and gave him a small kiss. He rolled slowly out of bed, a little sore from last night. He moved into the bathroom and took a quick shower, coming back into the bedroom to get dressed. "John Watson," he said. "Get your lazy backside out of bed, please."

"How are you up and showered already? Come back to bed," John said, pulling the covers up higher.

"The day's started, John," Sherlock said. He leaned over and kissed him. "I'll go make tea but I'm not in the mood for breakfast this morning," he added and left the room.

John sighed and dragged himself up, getting into the bathroom to freshen up. When he found Sherlock in the kitchen he said, "The day is allowed to start without us, you know."

"I don't doubt it already has," Sherlock said, pushing a mug of tea towards John. "But I've got things to do."

"What things?" John asked, sipping the tea gratefully.

"I need to start on the case," Sherlock said. "And I'll need to spend a little time thinking about how lovely my boyfriend is." He pulled a face at John.

John grinned. "He is pretty amazing," he said. "And the case, yes. I almost forgot about it."

"Don't you have work to go to?" Sherlock said. "Your lazy attitude is putting me off." He carried his tea to his desk and sat down. He opened his laptop and glanced over at John and smiled.

"I'm slowly getting there. It's not an early day today." John smiled as he watched him move around.

"Let me know when you'll be home," Sherlock said. "Perhaps I'll have a little surprise waiting for you in the bedroom." He grinned stupidly. 

John grinned and kissed him goodbye, promising to text him when he left work.

Things were back to normal. Their new normal.


End file.
